Time for Fools
by jhm.59
Summary: This is a time travel piece. I was quite leery of writing one again because there are so many hoops and 'laws' to jump through when it comes to such a piece. This is NOT a romance piece. I am experimenting with it to see where it goes; it is intended to be a comedy of sorts. Rated M just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I own no one from the Patriot. Also, this is NOT a story about Harriet Tubman in any way, in case someone wants to get me for portraying a story about a real person. **

Eee! Nat's alarm broke the din of her darkened room.

"What the..." she groaned, blinking a sleep-filled eye at the small red desk-clock, "It's five thirty! And Saturday!"

With a lazy slap, she silenced the alarm and turned over to go back to bed when she heard a crashing ruckus coming from outside her bedroom door, followed by a series of frantic barks and a yell.

"Good, Mo got 'em then," she muttered, getting out of bed and started toward her door, and grabbed a can of pepperspray along the way.

There had been a series of break-ins near her apartment and the thugs appeared to be growing bolder.

Nat paused, listening behind her bedroom door, snickering when she heard a string of curse words, followed by a kick and the yelp of her beagle mix. In frustration, she thrust open the door and yelled, "What the hell do ya think you're doing?! That's my dog!"

Before her stood a man, unusually dressed in a certain uniform, of red and green. He kept his hair long but pulled back. The man unquestionably stood out; he was dressed for cold weather and it was clearly summer outside.

"Contain that _creature_, will you?" he asked rudely.

"The fuck are you?!" Nat blurted, taken aback by his strong accent.

The man's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward; Nat's hands faltered and she failed to release the pepperspray.

"That is no way for a lady to speak," he said smoothly.

Nat raised a brow, tucking a strand of two-tone, chestnut and blonde hair behind a _very_ pierced ear.

"Oooo-kay... if you're looking for the freak show, you've reached the wrong address."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The psych ward, then?" Nat offered.

The man gave her a piercing stare, making her feel as if _she_ was the crazy one of the two of them.

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

"I should ask _you_ the same," he replied smartly.

"Nat," she said in a flat voice.

"Nat," he mused, "like a _boy_ or a _bug_?"

"Forget it!" she snapped. "You can leave!"

"And where would I go?" he asked, giving her dog a look of disgust as the animal walked up and nudged him.

"What do you mean? Are you really _that_ stupid?" Nat demanded, visibly irritated.

"Perhaps I have failed to explain myself; I am Colonel William Tavington-"

"And I'm Harriet Tubman!" Nat cut in.

"Who is she?"

The woman laughed.

"I can't believe this! You really _are_ a nut job!"

"No; last I checked, I was sober." Tavington answered, his ire beginning to show.

"No opiates?"

"Not since last week. Christ, will you just _let me through_?"

"Not until I figure out how you got separated from the circus and got into my apartment!"

"Well I didn't ask to be here!" Tavington shot.

"Of course! It was a simple magic..._trick_."

Nat's mind raced, the events of the previous night flooding her mind. She had been out and had a couple of drinks. Not enough to make her drunk but enough to get her tipsy. On the way home, she happened upon a haggard, homeless man with long, stringy grey hair. He heckled her for a couple of blocks, claiming that he could bring someone, anyone she desired, back from the past. Afraid that he would not leave her alone, she paid a small fee and told him to bring back whomever he pleased. He took the money with a particularly greedy smile and began to recite an incantation, jerking his arms about in a fit. Once finished, he told her to leave and wait until the morning.

"Holy shit, that ratter was't kidding," she spoke to herself.

"What ratter?" Tavington asked, still disgusted by her profanity.

"Never mind. You need _clothes_."


	2. Chapter 2

"Clothes?" Tavington replied, shoving Mo back down on the floor where the dog attempted to jump up and greet him.

"_Clothes_." Nat answered briskly. "You're not wearing that shit around town; you'll look worse than a drag queen."

"_This_ is _shit_?" the colonel raised his voice defensively. "This _uniform_ cost me half my earnings!"

"Yeah, well, it's shit. Jeans and a t-shirt are on the menu." Nat answered. "Now, go sit down while I wash up."

"Where?"

"Down the hall. And _don't_ touch _anything_."

Tavington raised a brow and walked past the woman to a small room with two couches and a host of other items with which he was wholly unfamiliar. Sitting gingerly upon one of the couches, he almost immediately stood back up, but contented himself with prodding at it, removing his riding gloves to get a better feel.

"Leather…"

Tavingtons sank further into the couch, about to take a rare moment to relax when suddenly, Nat's flat screen television blared to life with the latest news; it had been set on a timer.

"What on earth…" The colonel jumped and stared in momentary horror as a man appeared on the screen and began to babble about the weather.

"And today's high looks to be another hot one, eighty degrees…"

"How…?" Tavington puzzled before approaching the television. "Sir, how did you get in there? And how do you know such things?"

No answer.

"Can you hear me?"

"With a low of seventy five…"

"Sir, are you a witch?" Tavington raised his voice in exasperation.

Mo came dashing clumsily into the room, knocking his shoulder into a nearby tabletop as he wagged his tail exuberantly at the stir being made.

"Get–out." the colonel remarked with dislike.

Mo barked, ever so pleased to be given attention.

"_Get out_!" Col. Tavington snapped.

The beagle mix whined, lowered his ears and clambered out of the room, tail tucked between his legs. No sooner had Mo made his exit then there was the rushing sound of water.

"Oh dear god, this place isn't flooding, is it?"

Leaving the room, Tavington made his way, with some difficulty, to Nat's bathroom door, tripping over Mo along the way (the dog had decided to lie down just feet from the bathroom door).

"Mongrel," he murmured under his breath before knocking on the door.

"Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

No response. Nat had music turned up in the bathroom and could not hear him.

Tavington tried again.

"Excuse me…_Nat_!"

Waiting no longer, the colonel pushed the door open and was greeted with a cloud of steam.

"Bloody hell-"

"Oh my god!" Nat screamed in surprise. "Get out, goddammit! Jesus Christ, I'm showering!"

"So it's not flooding, then?" Tavington managed through the shock, trying to wave off the steam.

"No! Get out!" Nat yelled.

Too surprised to argue, the officer stumbled out of the bathroom where Mo greeted him with a certain smug expression.

"Piss off," he muttered.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Nat stepped out of the bathroom and experienced a second scare when Col. Tavington, who had been waiting in the hallway, turned to her and said, "Dear god, woman, are you going out in _that_?"

"It's a towel, dammit, and cut the 'woman' crap. My _name_ is _Nat_."

She hurried to her room and locked the door behind her.

"Good shit, he has _no_ sense of privacy," she murmured to herself.

There was a scratching noise at the door, followed by a whine.

"Forget it, Mo," Nat yelled through the door. You can deal with Mister Crazy-Pants for thirty more seconds."

Quickly amassing a pair of worn jeans, an old tank-top and a light, zip-up hoodie, Nat threw them hastily over a pair of black hipster underwear and a simple black bra before she stepped into a pair of cheap, knock-off flip flops.

"Let's go," she said, pushing past Tavington and whistling for Mo, who was all too happy to follow her out the door.

"What the hell are you wearing?" the colonel deadpanned.

"Clothes." Nat replied shortly.

Tavington stepped closer to her to inspect. The near proximity made her nervous and she caught his scent, something wild, brimming with adrenaline and dripping with power.

"Damn, you have bubble issues," Nat muttered.

"What is _this_?" the colonel asked, ignoring her as his eyes lingered on her bra-strap.

"Undergarment." she replied tersely.

Col. Tavington curled his lip in dislike.

"So, you're going to walk about like a common doxie, are you?" he sneered. "Dressed in _men's trousers…_"

At that moment, Mo howled desperately, stopping any retaliation from Nat.

"Dog's gotta go…"

"What?" Tavington asked bluntly.

Nat hissed in annoyance. "He's gotta take a _load off_." She answered, finding Mo's leash and clipping it to his Lupine collar. "Let's go!"

Pushing the door open, Nat led them out to a patch of grass just outside her apartment where Mo sniffed for a good minute and then emptied his bowels. Retrieving a bag attached to his leash, Nat looked over at Tavington, who appeared as if he would be sick.

"They fine you if you don't clean up the shit, deal with it."

"That is one of the most _pathetic_ things I have seen. Slavish…"

Nat snorted, cleaned up the mess, and stood to face the officer, eying him up.

"Well I can't take you out in that jacket. They'll think I'm off my rocker. Hmm…" she thought a moment and then spoke, "You're about my brother's size. I have one of his old blazers."

"Blazer?"

"Never mind, _come here_."

Leading them back into the house, Nat unclipped Mo, who bounded to the television room and leapt up on the couch with a satisfied groan.

"In my room."

Tavington stopped dead in the middle of the hall, crossing his arms with an indignant stare.

"I think _not_."

"The blazer is in my room."

"Normally, I would accept such an offer, however, I am _not_ going into your quarters."

"Fine, but you _are_ wearing the blazer." Nat snapped.

She disappeared momentarily and came back with a dark, nearly new denim blazer.

"Jaxon hardly used it, said it was too casual," she spoke more to herself. "Anyway, try it on…" Nat said, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Well at least it _looks_ decent." Col. Tavington scoffed, removing his scabbard, holster, and waistcoat. Underneath was a thin linen shirt; Nat could see his skin flushed beneath the material and looked away.

"Take this then," Tavington pushed his waistcoat into her arms while snatching the blazer from her.

"What am I, your maid?" Nat retorted.

"That had better stay _pressed_."

"Right…" Nat groaned as the colonel pulled the blazer on, straightening the shoulders as he went.

"It's….airy…"

"Well shit, you were wearing a wool bandage beforehand."

Tavington's eyes narrowed to near slits, their glacial hue bright, even in the dim light.

"All right, _all right_, you like your jacket; jeez!" Nat sputtered. "You still look out of place. We need jeans, some shirts and a…._haircut_." she finished with an impish grin.

Tavington simmered.

"You will _not_ take me to some riffraff place to cut _my_ hair. No, it will be as it is."

"Do you want to look like a hippie?" Nat snapped.

"That is one thing you will _not_ change!" the colonel answered heatedly.

"Fine! Jeans, t-shirts and shirts… and boxers and socks."

"Boxers?"

Nat reddened.

"You're not going commando under there."

"Pardon?"

"Underwear!" she shouted. "Damn you!"

"I like to _breathe_," Tavington replied, clenching his fists.

"Well I don't need to see you 'breathing', okay? Just…no."

"Very well, what do these _boxers_ look like, hm?" the colonel scintillated.

Nat phrased her words carefully.

"Like trousers cut above the knee."

"Breeches, then?"

"No, not quite. But they're comfortable."

Col. Tavington eyed her suspiciously, raising an intense brow.

"They make them for women too," Nat covered.

"Christ, what has happened to this place?" Tavington muttered.

"We'll have a beer tonight and I'll tell you all about it."


	3. Chapter 3

It took several agonizing minutes for Nat to figure out how to explain transport to Col. Tavington.

"All right, so, we are leaving in a _horseless_ _carriage_; got that?"

"_Horseless_, you say? Tell me, what pulls it then? Slaves? Servants?"

"Momentum, gas…never mind. It's really fast. A whole lot faster than a horse."

Tavington appeared to perk at the notion.

"A horseless carriage that does not require pulling… are you stark-raving mad?"

"Nope." Nat replied shortly, dearly wishing to avoid a lengthened conversation.

"It's called a 'car', just so you know. Don't need people looking at you all funny for calling it a carriage."

The colonel almost replied when Nat cut him off and called Mo away from the television room.

"_He_ is coming along?"

"He'll pee on the carpet if he doesn't."

"A pleasant observation, no?" Tavington replied dryly.

Nat said nothing and led the dog and soldier to her car, a green Volkeswagon Jetta.

Tavington's curiosity piqued but she gave him a look and he got into the car (with careful directions, of course).

"What is this? Some sort of poor binding? My worst soldiers tie better knots than this," the colonel spoke, pulling at the seatbelt.

"It will keep you safe if we crash."

"Crash?! We are going to _crash_?!" Tavington asked sharply, his eyes darting in and out of the vehicle.

"If you keep freaking out, probably!" Nat hissed. "Just sit there and twiddle your thumbs or something… don't touch anything _here_," she gestured at the dashboard.

Mo, who had been sitting obediently in the back of the car, climbed in between the front seats and planted what he thought was a show of devoted affection upon the side of Col. Tavington's face, barking with loud, appreciative declaration. Nat stifled a laugh as the colonel gave the eager pup a forceful shove back in his seat.

"Aww, he's not _that_ bad."

"His breath," sniffed Tavington, "it smells like… well, what do you call something so horridly foul?"

Nat frowned, turned the ignition on and put the Jetta in reverse. The colonel sat mute and tense, clenching his fists before pulling absentmindedly at the blazer. There were so many questions to ask, yet this strange woman with the name of a bug had made it quite clear she was not going to share answers so readily.

A mile into the drive, Mo was snoring loudly in the back seat, blissfully oblivious to his surroundings while Col. Tavington turned to eye him with a mixture of amusement and disdain, wrinkling his nose when he noticed a string of saliva dangling precariously from the dog's lip. Nat decided to break the silence with some music and took out a mix cd from her visor flap case. Immediately, Garth Brooks' voice came to life through the speakers and Tavington turned to Nat with an expression like he had just discovered gold but had no thought as to where to put it.

"This voice, where does it come from? Did you conjure it?" he asked in wonder.

Nat reddened.

_Shit, he has a lot to learn_…

"It's music," she answered, trying to begin with a simple explanation.

"Music?" Tavington raised a brow; for the first time, Nat noticed just how blue his eyes were; it unnerved her so. They looked soulless, a stark contrast to her muddy hazel eyes which seemed to shamelessly reflect every single emotion she flipped through in her daily routines.

"Yes, it's music," she answered, turning her attention back to the road while Mo snored and twitched in his sleep.

"Well it's _awful_, _rubbish_," the colonel declared.

"It is not!" Nat argued. "Besides, I am driving; we listen to what _I_ want."

"So you will torture your poor guest with this…_music_?" Tavington smirked. "That is _not_ music, Nat. _That_ is someone talking in tune."

Nat was not about to complain; traffic was bogging down and she needed to concentrate. Reaching out with a slender but nail-bitten hand, she twisted the track dial until she reached her favorite movie score.

The colonel appeared to favor the score and relaxed while it played, closing his eyes momentarily.

A short time later, Nat pulled into the shady spot of a Target parking lot. With a little explaining, Tavington was free of his seatbelt and figured out the car door on his own. Nat let Mo out for a short 'business trip' and then put him back in the car. Col. Tavington, still amazed at the ingenuity of the car, told Nat how impressive the speed of it was; faster and smoother than any mount he had ridden. The woman flushed in embarrassment and said nothing.

"All right, we're going into the store. I want to take as little time as possible. Follow me closely and don't say anything. It's better to look like a mute than a moron."

With that, she all but dragged the soldier into the stoor. Immediately, Tavington was overwhelmed with the sights. Items were stacked high and deep on endless rows of shelves. There were so many of them he wondered how the people around him managed to stack so many into their 'horseless carts' and be able to afford everything.

"What is this…Snickers?" he asked, taking a candy bar from one of the shelves and turning it over in his hand.

"Sweets," Nat replied shortly, taking the bar from him and set it back on the shelf.

Fifteen seconds later, they were in the men's apparel section. Nat quickly grabbed a bulk pack of socks and stuck it in her cart.

"What are those?"

"Stockings."

"They hardly reach up my leg."

"Right, so you won't look like the newest loser on the block when you're wearing them," Nat replied acidly.

Tavington's eyes narrowed.

"Well they're _black_. I could have bought you _white _ones."

The colonel conceded with a grumpy murmur and they proceeded to find 'trousers'. This was surprisingly easy for Nat; Tavington liked the first two pairs she showed him. The boxers, however, were another story.

"These are comfortable, you say?" Col. Tavington asked in disbelief, holding a pair of grey boxers at arms' length. "They'll go all the way up."

"No they won't." Nat replied. "There's elastic," she explained, showing him the waistband. "Better than buttons for this sort of thing.

"If there are no buttons then how––"

"There's a slit," Nat covered, feeling her ears grow hot. "Look, they're comfortable and convenient."

"They're _godawful_…"

"And you're going to wear them _anyway_!"

Nat picked three pairs of grey mens' boxers, chewing her fingernails intermittently, and finished with shirts. Again, Tavington seemed aware enough to choose on his own and picked two fitted shirts, one white and one blue, along with a black, light-weight hoodie. Nat chose a cobalt grey sweatshirt to go with the rest of his things.

"Shoes! That's right!" she announced as they were about to make their way to the checkout line. "Stay here; _don't_ move!"

Rushing back to the men's footwear, she left Tavington standing alone by the checkout counters. A little girl with blonde pigtails approached and the colonel met her gaze with a look of perplexed politeness, his eyes flashing warily.

"You look funny; your shirt is all ruffled."

"And your dress is on backwards, cretin." Tavington responded offhandedly, without missing a step.

The girl screwed up her baby-fat face and complained, "It is _not_! That would be stupid!"

"Well I guess your are then, aren't you?" Tavington purred, changing his look of annoyance to ire.

The girls' eyes grew watery and she left, bawling at the top of her voice.

"Got your shoes!" Nat announced, returning with a pair of clearance running shoes.

"Why do they let children in here?" Col. Tavington asked, still preoccupied with the girl. "They're so..."

"Yeah yeah, you're out of date, deal with it."

Tavington followed Nat through the checkout line, and, after a moment of being pulled away from the tabloids, they reached the parking lot and were starting back to Nat's house.

"Well, you're not _impossible_ to shop with. Awkward as hell, but not impossible." Nat attempted, but the colonel was not listening.

"Why is it called Target? There are no targets are arms in the place…And who in their right mind would name a sweet after impetuous laughter?"


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow, Nat managed to make the trip back to her car, convincing the colonel to change into a set of the new clothing she bought him.

"I don't like them," Tavington complained about a pair of jeans she had purchased; he grabbed uncomfortably at the crotch. "This… _zipper_… whatever the blast it is, is too high up. How can I expect to walk about in this mess without being pinched?"

Nat rolled her eyes and beckoned for him to get into the car. To her surprise, he almost looked natural, only pausing briefly to watch her put her seatbelt on before following suit.

"This _car_… impossible. It does exactly what you want it to without the aid of reins or discipline."

"Look, I'd really love to teach you all about cars but I don't have the time; we'll look it up online." Nat hinted bleak irritation.

"On a line? By a cable of sorts? But how?" Tavington asked, genuinely confused. "The resources needed for-"

"Holy shit, it's just a way to look things up!"

Col. Tavington flashed her an angry look.

"What on _earth_ possesses you to speak with such _vulgar_ candor? From now on, I _forbid_ it!"

Nat snorted, ducking back into her lane after treading lightly over the center lane.

"_You_ are going to stop me?! Shit, you wouldn't last two minutes here!"

"But I am a _guest_, yes?" the colonel simmered.

"Haphazardly, perhaps," Nat replied tightly, coming to a stop at a red light.

"Then I _insist_ on being treated as a _guest_, haphazard or _not_."

"Or what?" Nat growled, stepping excitedly on the acceleration; the car jerked forward. "Pull the tiniest amount of crap and I'll have you in chains."

"Only if I am caught," Col. Tavington replied with a smug, comfortable tone.

"Which would be _so hard_ to do…"

Tavington's complacent expression broadened.

"Miss Nat, I have based my _entire_ career on brute force, trickery, and lies," he patronized her, reaching coyly into her purse, for he had noticed her pocket knife peeking out from it earlier. "You are no better than anyone else."

Col. Tavington produced her single-blade knife and, just as they wheeled to another stop, pressed the silvery metal to her throat and she gasped.

"What the fuck?! You're gonna get us killed!"

"Do we have an accord then?" the colonel asked unyieldingly, pressing further with the blade.

"Yes! Fine! Put the damn knife away, for fuck's sake!" Nat squeaked.

Tavington lowered the knife and folded it away.

"It is stifling." He spoke up in a light voice as if nothing had occurred moments before.

"Roll the window down," Nat replied smartly.

"How would I 'roll' it down? You cannot simply fold a sheet of glass in upon itself."

Nat took a breath.

"Okay, the crank, there," she gestured to the window crank, thankful for the first time that her car did not have automatic windows. "Turn it."

Tavington gave the thing an experimental turn to the left and paused when the window opened just a crack.

"Maddening…" he spoke with wonder.

"Hey, keep your revelations to yourself, yeah? No crazy shit."

He fell silent and stared directly ahead at the road, thinking to himself how smooth these 'paths' were in comparison to the ones he was familiar with.

Nat maintained a quiet mood until they pulled up into the drive and offered Tavington a rare, sympathetic look.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation on things…"


	5. Chapter 5

Tavington, however relieved at Nat's recant, did not speak until they were in the house.

"Sit down," Nat gestured to one of the couches in the television room." You said you would serve drinks," Tavington spoke, feeling his way on the couch when he sat down.

"In a bit. You should be sound for the important stuff."

"Is it really so terrible?"

Before Nat could reply, Mo struggled onto the couch, breathing in Tavington's face.

"For the love of fuck, get _off_!" the colonel growled with a raised voice.

"Mo, get down and give him a break," Nat called.

The beagle mix whined.

"Get down," she repeated sternly.

Mo licked his lips, taking a moment to contemplate before he hopped down and gave his mistress an affectionate shove with his nose.

"All right, ya bug, go lie down for a bit," she patted his head.

Mo barked with glee and trotted off to his bed, a large fleece cushion in the corner of the room.

"That _thing_ sleeps _inside_?" Tavington asked in disgust.

"Yup, he does. And you'll be sharing _this_ room with him.

"You would have me stay on the couch?" the colonel demanded.

"Yeah, I guess," Nat replied offhandedly.

"Then he sleeps _outside_! I will not have such _beasts_ for nighttime company."

"Can't; he'll howl all night."

Tavington boiled.

"Your dog has more social standing than a barn cat!" he said.

"Yeah, he does! If you're going to get all pissy about it, then you, sir, can sleep out on the _porch_." She replied edgily.

"I just _might_!" Tavington hissed.

"But first, you want to find out why you're _here_." Nat interrupted.

"Yes," the colonel answered tightly.

"It's really not much of a story, but there is some magic," she offered.

"Witches? You're consorting with those who specialize in dark practices?"

"No," Nat spoke quickly. "There were not witches."

"You have disembodied voices that talk, and you're telling _me_ that this was not witches' play?"

"It wasn't a witch," Nat repeated adamantly. "Do you even believe in that stuff anyway?"

"There is truth in every tale."

"Fine, but are you superstitious?"

Tavington stnorted.

"If I was so foolish, I would not have made it so far. However, considering the current situation, I haven't the slightest idea of what I should see as truth or illusion."

_And I haven't even showed him the iPhone_, Nat thought, chewing her nails.

"Why am I here, Nat," Tavington interrupted her thoughts, jumping right to the topic of discussion.

"It's not that interesting; you're not here for any particularly important reason. It was an accident."

"An _accident_," the colonel repeated. "if I am here, not back in my own time, could there not be grave consequences for such a thing? You've _muddled_ with _my_ life." He finished in a casual tone that belied the seriousness he was actually implying.

Nat paled enough for Tavington to notice; he raised a scrutinizing brow and relaxed on the couch, resting one leg over the other.

"Okay, it's not funny," she mumbled.

"Go on," the colonel grated, becoming impatient.

"You know, maybe I should get those beers."

Nat moved to stand but Tavington ordered her to sit with a sudden guttural noise.

"You will tell me how I got here first."

"And then drinks," she asked, beginning to panic as she looked down at her ruined nails.

"Perhaps, if they don't taste like camel piss." He answered rudely. "Get on with it then; I'm already over two hundred years old."

"Oh," Nat replied dully.

"Dammit, girl, get on with it!" he snapped.

Nat flinched.

"Let me figure out how to say it first!"

The soldier groaned, setting his mouth in a thin line that twitched at the corners. After a minute, Nat decided to speak.

"Okay, so, I was out in town with some friends; just spending the night together, socializing, whatever you call it…"

"Mingling…"

"Yeah that," Nat answered. "So, I had a few drinks-"

Col. Tavington let out an audible sigh. This woman had been intoxicated when the idea to call him from the past occurred. How very convenient!

"You were sloshed, then," he asked in disgust."

"No," Nat replied firmly. "I was warm, but not _drunk_. Buzzed."

"Buzzed?"

"Yes, _buzzed_. Inebriated but not drunk."

"Fine." He answered stoutly.

"Anyway, I had some drinks and decided to go home."

"You did have an escort-"

"No," Nat replied. "I was close enough to home."

"Riffraff…"

"So, I was almost home and came up to this weird homeless dude…"

She silenced Tavington before he could protest.

"Relax, he didn't hurt me!" she said urgently. "Moving on… I thought he was just a nobody on the streets; didn't even get his name. But he kept _bugging_ me-"

"A strange man accosts you and you did not get his name?! What is wrong with you?!" the colonel demanded, sitting straight up on the couch, balling his fists.

"Let me _finish_!" Nat implored. "He kept bugging me, telling me he had the power to bring back people from the past; if I paid some money, he would call anyone I wanted back to the future. I thought it was shit, so I tried to leave… crazy bastard followed me."

Tavington humphed, looking most irritated. Nat continued.

"I didn't want him to follow me all the way home, so I paid him and told him to call whomever he wanted back to the future. So he did; he did this silly incantation and creepy dance; then he told me to go back home and wait until morning. That is when I found you…"

Tavington had no answer; he was still trying to comprehend the entirety of the situation they were in.

"It must be sorcery," he murmured, steepling his fingers.

"Do you remember anything, just before you left?"

The colonel frowned thoughtfully, softening his gaze as he turned his thoughts from anger to speculation. He was still shocked, but thought it best not to pitch a fit just yet.

"I was taking advantage of a light rest in the mess tent, just before patrol. There was a falling sensation and I landed on my back in the middle of your house, happily greeted by that _canine_ of yours," he scorned.

Nat smiled weakly, her ears pink with embarrassment.

"I'll get the beer."


	6. Chapter 6

An hour passed, then another. Tavington had hardly consumed half of the Corona Nat had given him and sat, half slumped on the couch, squinting at the amber liquid in the bottle.

"A 'bottle'," he murmured.

"Yeah?" Nat replied more loudly than was needed. "How'd it taste?"

"Like piss; how the bleeding hell do you consume this…_beer_?"

"It gets the job done," Nat said stubbornly, taking another draw of alcohol.

"You're drunk."

"Yeahhh," Nat grinned, "But onny alil…"

"Give me the bottle," he reached for the drink.

"No, you ruin the fun," she recoiled, holding the bottle out of Tavington's reach.

He scowled and reached out once more.

"_NO_!" Nat screeched, trying to jump off her couch but ended up tripping. "Whathe hell?!" she yelped when he grabbed her arms and pulled her up, holding them behind her.

"You're drunk, and I will _not_ be responsible for your pathetic antics!" Tavington hissed.

Mo, who had been sound asleep on his bed in the corner, peered upward and let out a grunting sniff.

"You can' arrst me!" Nat squeaked.

"Shut up!" the colonel growled, forcing her to step forward; the beer had been neglected, toppled over on the floor.

"Fuck you," Nat hurled back.

Tavington kneed her left calf.

"Oof!"

"_Move_, damn you!"

The two struggled all the way out of the room to Nat's bedroom where Tavington all but dropped her unceremoniously on the bed.

"Ow!" Nat cried petulantly.

The colonel sniffed, narrowing his eyes at her.

"_Go to bed_."

Before she could protest, he snapped the door closed and returned to the television room, where Mo was happily licking the spot of beer on the carpet.

"Maggot!" he scorned, stepping toward Mo, who was still caught in happy oblivion.

With a firm grip, he took hold of Mo's collar and pulled him back two feet.

"Over there!" he said roughly, gesturing to Mo's bed.

The dog's ears drooped and his eyes took on a watery glaze.

"Bed! _Now_!" the colonel jabbed the air in irritation.

Mo whined and moved to follow Tavington's command; however, just a foot from his bed, he stopped and squatted. The colonel howled.

"You goddamned fucking beast!" he seethed.

"Get out! OUT!"

The beagle mix cowered and slunk out of the room toward Nat's door.

Tavington stood in the middle of the room, huffing, trying to figure out what to do next. He supposed he should clean the messes, but with what? He had yet to see anything that resembled a cleaning item in Nat's apartment. Where would he look?

"The cupboards," the colonel murmured.

The place he had noticed that contained the most cupboards was the kitchen; he'd look there first.

Stepping into the kitchen, Tavington mentally sifted through his options as to where the cleaning things might be. Logic from his time, taught him that dishes were more likely to be on the upper shelves, in the high cupboards. To test this, he walked over to the far left cupboard and opened it. Stacked high and neat, were some plain, white ceramic plates.

"All right…"

Moving to the next cupboard, he prised it open and found a tiny stack of blue packets.

"Tro-jan…" he cocked his head, turning the packets over in his hand. "Textured…what?"

Raising a brow, Tavington pocketed the packets; he'd ask Nat about those later, in the meantime, there were the bottom cupboards to search.

On a lucky whim, Tavington opened the doors just below the sink and instead of finding a wooden bucket, he discovered a host of cleaning solutions.

"Dawn, Comet, _Arm and Hammer_?" he questioned. "Hmm…Shout. How in-," he turned the bottle of Dawn over and glanced at the instructions printed on the back label, quickly figuring out that if he wanted to find the right cleaning materials, he needed to look at all of the solutions before him.

"Not Comet… toilet cleaner? What on earth…? Ah, Shout… cleans odors and stains…"

It took a few extra minutes for him to gather a damp cloth, for Tavington could hardly comprehend how water came flowing freely, at will, from the sink. He figured it out completely by experimentation (thankfully, he did not experiment with the stove!), as he did not wish to disturb Nat in order to find out.

"Oh!" he let out a small cry as he shifted the nozzle on the faucet, turning the water from cold to steaming. "Offoffoff!" he turned it to the right, making the water run cold again. Nonono!"

With a knee-jerk reaction, he pushed the nozzle down the middle and the faucet shut off.

"My god, why is this so _complicated_," he wondered with a wary look back at the sink, hand still stinging from the release of hot water.

Hesitating, he turned the water on once more, to cold, and dipped a rag that he had fetched from under the sink, into the flow.

"Now, _off_," he spoke in a strong voice, switching the faucet to the middle.

Taking the damp rag and Shout in hand, Tavington made his way back to the television room, where Mo was snoring contentedly in his corner.

"Ugh…"

Deciding to get rid of Mo's urine puddle that has sunk into the carpet, he sprayed some solution on it and began scrubbing.

"Slave work…" he hissed. "I should have you _shot_," he said mutinously, wrinkling his nose as the faint smell of urine wafted from the carpet fibers. "This had better come _clean_."

Although it had had more time to sink into the carpet, the mess left by Nat's beer was far easier to lift than the pet-stain. Still feeling morally wounded from such work, Tavington shoved the solution back under the sink, throwing the rag carelessly in after it.

"_Childish_..." he grated, returning to the television room with a frown. "Of course… _coverlets_…" Tavington rolled his eyes.

The only 'blanket' in sight was Mo's tattered doggy blanket and he certainly would _not_ stoop to _that_!

"You've got to be kidding me, woman-"

Tavington glanced from one couch to the other; no blankets. He got up, still puzzled by the texture of the carpet; it felt oddly fuzzy beneath his now bare feet (he had removed his boots when he reached the room). He paused a moment, flexing his toes on the new tan-colored surface.

"It doesn't _itch_. And it isn't wool."

Deciding he would finish that musing at a more convenient time, the colonel continued to look for some sort of bed covering, and raised a brow of barely-noticeable satisfaction when he found a blue, woolen thing. It smelled of dust and age, but it would suffice. He inhaled the scent from one of its corners and nearly smiled.

_Just like the old quilts at home_…

Returning to the couch, Tavington made a small, simple yet meticulous 'cot' and settled in to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

William Tavington had barely been set upon a restful sleep for an hour when he awoke with panicked wide eyes.

_Where the hell am I? What am I doing here? Where are my men? Where is my horse? __**Where am I?**_

"My god," his breath came in fearful gasps as his eyes darted over to Mo, who was snoring loudly in his bed, and back up at the ceiling; his breathing was now ragged.

"My god-" Tavington sat up, choking for air; the blanket fell from his chest.

"What has happened?"

He got up from the couch, still affected by the carpet and left the room; the urge for personal relief had caught him before he could further his fit.

"Where to go?" he wondered aloud.

The colonel had seen nothing that resembled a chamber pot. Another issue he would bring to light with Nat; after all, what decent human creature did not own a chamber pot?

"Piss it," he groaned, heading to the front door. "Curses, this is _not_ a latch-hook!" Tavington's voice grew louder as he shook the doorknob. "And no _candles_… what the hell is wrong with everyone?!"

After an exasperated pause, he tried the knob once more and it opened.

"For fuck's sake," the colonel muttered unnecessarily; his bladder was getting the best of him.

Stepping outside, Tavington nearly forgot what he was doing as he was met with a view of…_concrete_.

"They're paved," he marveled. "No stones…"

Without any cautionary though, he made his way to the side of the road and gingerly touched the pavement.

"There are rocks of a sort, but they are not stone or brick… A carriage could go so much faster on this…"

Suddenly, a honking noise; Tavington looked up just in time to see a car hurling toward him, and he stood to avoid the blinding lights coming from the front of it. The vehicle came to a rubber-burning halt in front of him and he startled when the driver honked.

"What the fuck are ya doin'?!" a man who looked to be about twenty, poked his head out of the driver-side window.

Tavington sneered.

"My dear boy, please, come again?"

"Fuck you!" the man snapped, holding up his middle finger.

In less than a blink, the colonel met him with an iron grip on the impertinent digit, twisting it slowly counterclockwise.

"Shit! The hell?!"

"Now, I was enjoying a peaceful evening, pensive perhaps," Tavington spoke in a steely calm voice, adding more pressure until the man couldn't even gasp for words. "Shall we keep it that way?"

The driver, eyes watering, managed a most agonizing moan.

"Very well," Col. Tavington released him. "A warning to you, and _begone_."

The man squealed off and the colonel, remembering his original priority, found a nearly secluded hedge and unbuttoned his 'jeans'.

"_Mercy_," he sighed with relief. "Damn, it's been _hours_…"

A snort caught his attention and he turned to see an elderly woman looking straight at him from a neighboring window. Her expression was utterly scandalized, but she merely blubbered her contempt.

"What?" he asked tersely. "I'm taking a _piss_."

The woman let out a muffled, croaky scream and retreated from the window.

Col. Tavington finished and rolled his eyes.

"These _people_, no concern for personal relief and no respect for an _officer_! Christ be damned!"


	8. Chapter 8

"Who… turned…No, no light…" Nat squeezed her eyes shut, turning over in bed, the tendrils of a headache slowly ebbing away.

"Well I've _never_…_Will you get up_?"

But even Tavington's abrupt tone would not properly rouse her.

"You've got… to be… kirring…" Nat yawned and burrowed further under the rumpled coverlets.

"I don't think so-"

Nat felt a sudden, harsh shove against her side and toppled out of bed, landing with her side against the heater in her room; the sudden bruising ache was enough to clear her mind.

"Couldn't drop me somewhere else?" she managed, rubbing her side.

"Lazy bum…"

Nat blinked, shielding her eyes and slowly, the colonel's tall figure slowly made its way into focus.

"Well, you changed your clothes," she started acidly.

"After you're _mangy_ hound _baptized_ my trousers in drool thicker than syrup."

"So wipe it off…" Nat snapped, rubbing her head.

"I am _not_ looking after Mo _any more_."

"Because he's such a handful-"

"I don't fancy picking up _his excretions_ because _you_ were too busy being _snockered_."

"It's just a pile of shit."

"Not mine to be concerned about. _Get up_."

Nat pulled herself up, using the bed for support, and winced.

"Clean yourself up. Five minutes." Tavington spoke stiffly.

The woman almost complied when a sudden, mischievous thought, entered her mind.

"Me? What about you?"

"I am decent." Tavington sniffed.

"You haven't bathed since you got here."

"I see no washbasin."

"Shower?" Nat offered.

"Shower? Like the Romans?"

"Well you do know _something_ then," Nat snickered, "yes, kind of like that."

"I see no device of the sort." Tavington snorted, crossing his arms and looking down at her through his nose, one eye twitching slightly inward.

"Bathroom," Nat pushed past him to the door, waiting for him to follow.

The colonel crossed his arms, crooking one shoulder back, and raised a brow with an expression of skepticism.

"It won't bite you," Nat quickly grew impatient. "But you will have to strip down."

Tavington rolled his eyes, muttering words to himself that she could not discern and began to pull at his shirt.

"Not here, dangit," she interrupted. "In the _bathroom_." She finished before thinking, _though that wouldn't be bad either_.

Taking quick note that she was blushing, Nat pressed the thought out of her mind with a few choice words and motioned for the officer to quit stalling.

The bathroom was hardly even a jaunt away from her room, merely a few steps and they were inside.

"Oh _this_ _place_." Tavington looked around. The room was small, but it fit Nat well enough. The colonel, on the other hand, who outstood her by a foot and likely seventy pounds at least, looked to be a little cramped.

"This is the bathroom," Nat followed up on his remark, waving her hand about the place, nudging Mo back from entering with her foot; Tavington glanced down at the dog with a dry look, and he whined, ducking his head.

"Well what good is it then? I see no chamber pot, and this..." he gestured to the sink. "A tiny washbasin, yes?"

"A sink; you wash your hands, face, brush your teeth here." Nat explained. "These knobs turn it on."

Tavington, suddenly interested, looked over her shoulder as she switched the 'hot' knob on and a steady stream of water gurgled out of the silver faucet. This tiny action elicited an unabashed gape from the Dragoon commander.

"Is that… _water_?"

"Yes; _hot_ water. This here," she turned off the left knob and switched on the right, "is the _cold_."

"But how?"

"Pipes," she answered quickly. "Plumbing. The Romans had something like it, I think. We'll look more in to it later."

Tavington gave the slightest inclination of agreement, and stopped her before she could prattle on.

"The bath? Where is it?"

Nat's response was an almost unpleasant smile, the far corner of her lower lip cracked, exposing a trickle of blood; it was not unnoticed by her 'guest'.

"You've got a spot there," he brushed her lip with his finger.

"Yeah yeah, _strip down_." Nat huffed, "I'll get you a towel."

"Oh…?" Tavington's lip curled maliciously as he pulled off his shirt just as she looked away.

"Please, I can do better than _you_." she waived him off, leaving the room and shutting the door.

Taking a minute longer than needed to rifle through her linen closet, Nat picked out a newer navy colored towel and sighed. With her luck, it would barely come to his knees if wrapped around him, but such was the situation when one was not of the 'tall ilk'.

"Oh please, _please_ don't be facing me when I get in…" she begged to no one in particular, returning to the bathroom and rapped on the door.

"Not yet," Tavington's voice came muffled through the door.

"What?" Nat growled; she had the wary feeling that he might be 'exploring' something. "You're not _breaking_ anything, are you? That stuff's not cheap."

Though she couldn't hear clearly, she was almost sure that there was an irritated sigh in response, and Tavington opened the door, revealing part of his chest and face.

"Use this; I don't want to see your package." Nat blurted, shoving the towel at him.

"Pity…" Tavington leered, thoroughly basking in her discomfort.

"Bet you don't even know how to work the shower, hm…?" she switched tactics; the colonel stared at her blankly.

"Didn't think so; cover yourself up and I'll show you."

"You are _not_ freshening up with me," he retorted.

"I know, such a let down-"

Tavington glared.

"You're mocking me…"

"Yup… _shower_." Nat grated as her headache began to pulsate around her ears; she shoved her way through the door and squeezed past the colonel, who still stared at her, dumbstruck.

The structure was made of clear glass, with a plain, silver, eco-friendly showerhead, controlled by a single knob that looked like a lever. Tavington was momentarily distracted, looking at the crème, slate-textured linoleum.

"It isn't _real_ stone…" he murmured. "But…"

"Canvas and plastic." Nat answered. "_Shower, yeah_?"

"Fine, but you will tell me more about this… flooring… later."

"Deal…**_shower_**." She said emphatically.

"How does it work?"

Nat jumped when she found the colonel suddenly hovering behind her, his breath warm against the side of her head; she could feel the heat from his body, nearly pressed against her back.

_Nope, not happening_…

"This," she gestured to the lever, "controls the shower flow and how hot or cold you want the water.

"Oh?" Tavington stepped away from her, raising a brow, one hand at the towel around his waist and the other crossed over his chest on his opposite shoulder.

"Pull it out like this," Nat pulled the lever out a tad, "and the shower starts."

Just as the lever set, a stream of droplets erupted from the pressurized showerhead, thudding upon the porcelain floor of the shower.

Tavington was obviously pleased, eyes open with excitement, but he hid his enthusiasm well.

"Pipes?" he asked.

"Yes, pipes, plumbing…Romans." Nat replied, shivering as he closed in on her again.

"Now, pull the lever left to get hot water, and pull it right to get cold water. You can get warm by balancing it between left and right. Push it in to stop the water-flow."

"Simple enough," the colonel retrieved his usual haughty tone. "But the pipes…"

"_Later_." Nat interrupted in a flat voice and then remembered another vital piece of information.

"The wash stuff is right there," she pointed to a built-in shelf in the shower-stall that contained Aveda hair products and Aveeno body-wash. "Use the bottle labeled 'shampoo' first, then use the one labeled 'conditioner'. Finish with the body-wash. "Oh, and there's a rag on the counter you can use for scrubbing." She gestured at a red washcloth, neatly folded on the corner of the bathroom counter.

"Hmm…" Tavington stepped into the shower and took the bottle of shampoo off the shelf to inspect it.

"You're fine then?" Nat was anxious to leave.

"Oh yes, I do believe so," that familiar sneer would _not_ leave his face!

"Good," she replied shortly. "I'm out."

The colonel didn't respond and Nat turned to face him just in time to see the man in the process of removing his towel, staring straight at the lithe muscles of his back and panicking as the cloth speedily fell off.

"Oh god…"

Tavington heard her utterance and, looked over his shoulder. "You're still welcome, of course."

Nat snapped out of her daze and huffed loudly.

"Oh _as if_!" She snapped, and left the bathroom, seeking out a bottle of ibuprofen to soothe her bothersome headache.


	9. Chapter 9

Hardly ten minutes later, once the painkiller had begun to take effect, Nat heard the faint sound of the shower water shutting off.

"Good, he hasn't completely messed everything up... I hope."

"Bloody-" she thought she heard the word murmured, along with the rushed sound of confused footsteps.

"Everything all right in there?" she managed.

"Fine," came the rough answer.

More footsteps; Nat made her way over to the bathroom door and leaned against the wall, waiting for the colonel to come out. She didn't have long to wait; the door screeched open and Tavington stepped out, dripping wet, his hair hanging in long curls around his shoulders.

"Ever heard of drying off?" she asked sarcastically.

"Really? I could hardly see my hand in front of my face!" he retorted, gesturing to the thick cloud of steam billowing in the bathroom behind him.

"Fine, you're getting the carpet wet."

Tavington raised a brow but turned around and retreated to the bathroom; Nat followed and switched on the fan. The whirring sound immediately caught the officer's attention and he stiffened, looking up at the source of the sound.

"It's a fan; it moves the air around, cooling the room down."

"Pipes?"

"No, electricity and mechanics."

"Later..."

"Yes." Nat replied, staring at the back of him. "Now, you won't need any rescuing will you?"

"Well what is that?" Tavington asked brusquely, gesturing at the toilet.

"A toilet." Nat offered, relieved that he'd finally taken notice of the thing. "Chamber pot, to you."

"Of course," the colonel replied, turning to the strange porcelain sculpture. "It does look a _little_ familiar."

"It flushes." she spoke quickly. The lever, there," she pointed at the short, silver handle. "Push it down."

Col. Tavington looked at her with brief uncertainty and then pushed forcefully down upon the lever, parting his lips in surprise as the water billowed up, swirled and disappeared through the hole in the toilet.

"Where does it go...?"

"Pipes," replied Nat. "And you don't need to push so hard on it. Minimal application of pressure, yeah? I would rather you _not_ break my toilet."

"Ingenious," Tavington spoke softly.

"Not really..." Nat put in. "But, if you need to go... _relieve_ yourself, sit, when um... _excreting_, and stand when taking a piss. And _don't_ miss the bowl, dammit!"" she finished with a growl. " Wipe yourself down with the paper on the roll next to the toilet, flush when you're done, wash your hands with soap and water in the sink, and that's it.

"Well I _won't_ miss." Tavington rolled his eyes.

"Good! And, you'll need," Nat paused to dig through the drawer under her sink, "this." she held up a toothbrush. "I think you know what it is, yes?"

Tavington took the thing in his hand and inspected it closely.

"It isn't horse hair."

"No, it isn't. We're a bit _cleaner_ these days. The toothpaste is in a squeeze tube under the sink, labeled 'Crest'. Just use a pea sized bit, and _don't _swallow it. Scrub your teeth, spit it out, and clean the sink. Follow?"

The colonel scowled and Nat shrugged.

"Now that I'm pretty sure you won't destroy my bathroom or harm yourself, I'm going to go. Get dressed, clean up and come out when you're _completely dressed_." Nat wrinkled her nose at his still dripping form; a single drop of water fell from his dark brown hair, just below his shoulders, down his back; she watched it disappear beneath the waistline of his towel and averted her gaze just as Tavington began to loosen it so he could dry off.

"What? You've never been with a man before?" he caught her staring.

"I like to dress _alone_." she recovered.

"Pity..." Tavington sighed, pulling the towel up around his shoulders. "You shouldn't hide away like you do."

Nat glowered.

"I am _not _hiding away! I'm just not as _liberal_ as you are."

"Exactly my point." Tavington turned and Nat averted her gaze just as he fully faced her. "Ever the girl, aren't you?"

"I'd rather not grow all hot and bothered over someone who doesn't even have my number." the woman recovered with surprising cool.

"Number?"

"Forget it. I'm going. Mo needs to go out."


	10. Chapter 10

Tavington glanced over his shoulder toward the woman as she left him, shutting the door with a decisive 'click'.

"That _dog_ must be _dealt with_. He has more rights than a _child_."

After several minutes of working with his new clothing (Tavington still believed the zipper on his jeans was far too snug), the colonel quickly cleaned the damp spots off of the linoleum bathroom floor, casting peeved looks at the wet spots.

"Slave labor…"

Once finished, he hung the towel up and left the bathroom, pausing at the smell of fresh, warm food.

"It's not done," Nat said when he reached the kitchen; she was standing over her stove with a pan of hot, uncooked batter.

"You can cook?" Tavington raised a brow.

"Why are you surprised?" she asked in an abrupt tone. "Don't women do that when you're from?"

"Usually, but you-"

"I can cook- Oh shit!"

Nat turned her full attention to the batter and quickly flipped it so it wouldn't burn.

"Well, what are you making? Anything edible?" Tavington offered a little barb.

"Pancakes."

"Oh," the colonel took a step forward and watched, plaiting his hair back to keep his hands busy.

"You still look weird." Nat commented, flipping the pancake over again.

"How do I look _weird_? I'm wearing _your_ clothes. Ridiculous things…"

"I still think you should have had your hair cut."

"Do men _here_ not keep their hair long?" he asked edgily.

"They do, sometimes, yeah. But they don't _plait_ it."

"It's regimental rule," the colonel answered. "And, I'd like to keep a _remnant_ of _home_, if I can."

Nat paused, nearly forgetting to get the finished pancake out of the pan and onto the cooling rack. She had been so caught up in simply having this strange man in her home that she hadn't even bothered about sensibility.

"You miss it then…?"

"No, I've only been torn from my own world, where I have a sense order, to this…_place_." Tavington replied with a sharp start but finished with a questioning note. "Yes, it's fascinating, but-"

"I didn't mean that-"

"No, you didn't. And of course, you have no idea how to get me back." he dug in.

"Look, do you want some pancakes?" Nat changed the subject, shoveling a couple of the hotcakes onto a plate with a black plastic spatula.

"Those aren't pancakes." Tavington eyed the food on his plate. "These are… bloated."

"Do they smell good?" she asked hurriedly.

The colonel closed his mouth, but agreed to her request.

"They do, but they're _not_ pancakes."

"Right, you're used to crépes. Look, just try these, yeah? Syrup is on the counter." She gestured for him to sit at a small island counter that had a couple of black bar-stools surrounding it.

"You don't have a table?"

"Don't have the space, or the time to even sit at one." Nat reached for a couple of glasses while Tavington took his food-laden plate and sat down, where a fork and knife awaited him.

"What do you want to drink?"

"Wine, red…" Tavington answered simply, looking apprehensively at his food.

Nat made to remark but then remembered that the officer was probably used to wine with all of his meals.

"Okay, it's the good stuff though, and you're going to have water too." She replied. "And _eat your food_. I didn't poison it."

Tavington glared up at her.

"That is _not_ funny."

"Whatever; syrup, lightly poured, then cut it up and eat it."

"You don't wrap it around anything?"

"No. American pancakes, all right?"

"_American_?" his eyes glinted dangerously and for a brief moment, Nat began to panic.

"Colonial. I'll explain later."

"You _will_…"

"Yeah," Nat turned away with a gulp.

"You could be hanged for that…" Tavington said in a soft, dangerous voice, gripping his fork with unnecessary force, the top left corner of his mouth twitching as his rage began to tick. "Are you a spy?"

"No!" Nat's voice went up an octave. "And if I was, I'd be terribly unarmed, wouldn't I? Also, if you've forgotten, I just let you sleep in _my_ house, and am now giving you _breakfast_."

"Fine." He went back to staring at his food.

"Well damn, fucking eat it before it gets _cold_!" she could no longer hold in her anxiety.

"It's not poisoned…"

"On my word," she replied.

Tavington inhaled and reached for the syrup, dripping a steady, thin stream of it onto his pancakes. Just then, there was a loud groan and Mo came trotting in from the television room, planting himself with a firm sit at the colonel's side.

"What do you want?"

Mo looked up pathetically and lifted a tan paw, setting it heavily upon the man's lap.

"What?!"

Nat sniggered.

"Give him a bite."

"I think _not_! Am I to be degraded any further, feeding a _mongrel my _food?! What level must I sink to?"

Nat couldn't hold back a laugh while Mo let out a more insistent moan and pawed at the commander's leg.

"Mo, you still have ten minutes, tough it up." She called, motioning for the dog to leave Tavington's side.

The man returned to his meal and decisively cut food into small, perfectionist bits, sliding one into his mouth only when he was finished piecing the pancakes apart.

"Well?"

"This has sugar?" he asked swallowing the first piece.

"Yes."

"How?"

"It's… more available, I guess?"

"It's far sweeter than the syrup I am used to."

"I suppose so."

Tavington raised a brow.

"You _don't_ want to know what they put in that stuff. Tastes good, but it has the backwash of bad food byproduct in it."

"I thought we were clear that you would _not_ poison me," he started.

"I'm not. I'm just saying that it isn't terribly good for you."

"A lot of things aren't."

"You would know," Nat spoke without thinking, finally giving him his glass of wine.

Tavington sipped it at once and made a face, squeezing his eyes shut, and wrinkling his forehead.

"What the hell is this?" he pursed his lips, wiping them off with the napkin she had placed at his spot.

"Wine." Nat replied flatly.

"Stupid, _what is this_?!"

"Well it's not the cheap stuff!"

"That could have got up and walked!"

Nat reddened.

"Yeah, we have _real_ alcohol here. Might want to watch yourself."


	11. Chapter 11

"Well then," Tavington pushed the wine away and stared.

"Are you at least going to finish the pancakes?" Nat asked, feeling a twinge of desperation at his apparent dislike.

"I will," he replied, still staring.

"Good… well, I'll let you be then." Nat grabbed her plate and retreated to the TV room with Mo whining at her heels.

Taking only a couple minutes longer with his meal, the colonel finished and decided to use Nat's absence to look around the kitchen and find out where this strange food came from.

"Ahh," remembering that his hostess had taken food from a 'fridge', he quickly located the metal box with two doors and eyed it curiously.

William reached for one of the doors and paused, fixating on a label at the top corner of the left door.

"_Whirlpool_…" he questioned. "I…what?"

Tavington took a step back and reached out to trace the label with his fingertips. It was cold and metallic to the touch, and raised from the rest of the silver-colored door; he was still vexed.

"A _whirlpool_? In _here_?" he retraced the label, growing ever more consternated.

"Why on _earth_…"

A whiny moan distracted him from his current attention and the colonel turned to see Mo entering the kitchen. With a squint and a wrinkled nose, Tavington pronounced, "Sit."

Mo looked up at him, bemused, and settled his rear on the floor, tail wagging with intent.

"Oh, well…" Tavington lifted a brow, showing mild surprise and crossed his arms.

Mo whimpered and raised a paw, clawing the air at him.

"What now?"

The dog whimpered louder and repeated the gesture.

"I have nothing-"

Impatiently, the dog moved and jumped up on the officer's leg. Tavington, unflattered, pushed him off.

"Sack of fleas…"

Mo would not be deterred and nipped at the man's hand, turning toward the counter next to the sink where a jar of organic dog treats sat.

"You honestly believe you deserve that?"

Mo cried in earnest.

"For sitting on your arse? High minded cuss!" Tavington accused, grumpily fetching a treat for the dog. "_You_ should be in the streets, eating from my _rubbish pile_."

Mo paid no heed, too happily engaged in the cookie-bone to care about what this 'guest' had to say.

"Stupid dog," Tavington uttered in a soft, coarse breath, turning back to the refrigerator. "A whirlpool would be impossible to contain in such a place," he reasoned.

With a cautious air, the colonel pulled the handle on one of the doors and flinched away when it opened, feeling light against his eyes.

"Oh my…" he looked back at what appeared to be a sort of food-storage box. "It's…_cold_."

Tavington neglected the door and stared at the food. There was milk, water, lunch-meat, juice and cheese that he found when he opened one of the drawers.

"Everything is _fresh_," he wondered aloud, picking up an apple. "How?" he peeked further into the 'box' and found a number reading the temperature. "Impossible… maddening…. But _brilliant_."

The colonel's mind began to wander. What could he do with one of these boxes at home? The men wouldn't need to worry about going hungry.

"It's too complicated…"

"Hey," Nat strode into the kitchen, giving Tavington a momentary start. "you mind closing that?"

"This _box_," the colonel continued, closing the door.

Nat's features softened, and she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"It's a refrigerator."

"Re-fridg-er-a-tor…"

The woman nodded. "It stores food and keeps it fresh.

"How?"

"Plugs," she replied simply.

"Of course," Tavington spoke dryly. "_Plugs_. Is that your answer for everything then, hm?"

"It uses plugs, yes, and produces cold to keep food fresh."

"Well where is the whirlpool?" the colonel demanded.

Nat raised a brow and Tavington sighed.

"_This_," he spoke emphatically, pointing at the label.

"Oh, that's just the brand," Nat replied, thinking on her toes. "The type, like you're preferred type of whisky."

"So, it's not real?"

"The whirlpool? No…"

Tavington's expression turned sour and his lips curled.

"Well that's a cock-up. Why call something a 'whirlpool' if it has nothing to do with a churning torrent of water?"


	12. Chapter 12

"Look, I don't know why they call it 'Whirlpool', okay," Nat crossed her arms, puffing away the pesky lock of blond and red hair that continued to fall in her eye. "They make other things that go 'whoosh'-"

"Whoosh?" Tavington asked, looking increasingly put off. "What the hell kind of language-"

"Like washing machines," Nat continued, resorting to extravagant hand-hand gestures. "They go _whoosh_-"

"What the _bleeding hell_ is whoosh?!" Tavington shouted, a vein pulsing in his forehead while the muscles of his neck began to pop.

Nat quieted immediately; the soldier's eyes were bright and wide, and she could just make out the sleep-deprived veins of their whites.

"For all that you have _kindly_ informed me about this place, my knowledge is a good as _null_! For all I now, that box opened to a _flood_!"

"All right!" Nat recovered her voice with a shiver, planting her hands on his chest to stop him from trampling her in a fit.

"Hey," she paused, feeling his rise and fall erratically beneath her fingertips, "You need to calm down. The 'whirlpool' is just a name, nothing more."

"Load of crock-" Tavington sniffed, wrinkling his nose, and pushed her hands away, stepping back.

"It's a _fucking name_! Get over it!" Nat snapped; she had barely gotten the words out when she was pinned roughly against the right refrigerator door, with Tavington holding her fast by the throat; Mo squealed and barked in agitation.

"I may be your guest, and I may be unfamiliar to this place, but you will _not_ slight me in such a way _again_." His voice was low, calculated and tinged with a gravelly air of someone who may have smoked their fair share of cigars; from the cocksure look in his eyes, Nat began to fear that what she had read about the notorious 'Butcher' was not too far off-mark.

"Let go of me," she grasped at his hand; Tavington remained unfazed, even when Mo jumped at him. "_Let go_! Mo!"

Immediately, the colonel loosed his hold and retreated several paces, still keeping her in his direct sightline.

"What the fuck?!" Nat choked, grabbing her neck. "What was that for?! You'd be stupid to kill me!" she wheezed.

"I had no intention to do so," William looked away with a bored expression. "I was merely reminding you of your _place_."

"My place?!" Nat shouted, starting toward him. "Who's goddamn _place_ is this?!" she shoved him in the stomach but he didn't budge.

"Oh you are a _sprite_," Tavington returned with a deep, chesty laugh and gripped her arms before she could deal blows.

"You fuck!" Nat screeched.

"This is doing you no good," he answered amidst her cries. "_Shut it_!"

With a sudden jerk, Nat was forced to stare at him, all but incapacitated.

"I am still a soldier, whether you like it or not, and I _will_ have order and respect _here_, from _you_ and your _beast_."

"He's a _dog_." Nat smarted.

"Dog, beast–– it's the same wretched thing!" Tavington replied.

"_Fine_. Let me go."

"Not if you're going to start up again.

"Well we know that would be foolish!"

The colonel smirked and let her go. Nat stumbled back a step and regarded him with a thorny expression.

"I am going to go change my shirt to something _cleaner_; I don't feel like wearing _flour_ all day. _You_ can just sit down and wait."

"Certainly," Tavington sneered before striding off to the TV room.

Sinking into one of the couches, he stared around and sighed.

"Why is it so bloody _hot_?" he questioned, loosening a couple of the top buttons on his black, button-up shirt. "There's no fire here…"

A couple minutes later, the sound of a door closing caught his attention and the colonel left the couch, arriving half a step into the hall where he collided with Nat, who collapsed against the wall.

"Watch it, yeah?" she growled, unsticking her side from the wall with a wince. "Fucking Fabio…" she breathed so he wouldn't hear.

"Little tart," William answered with a mumble.

Nat sopped and challenged, "How am _I_ a _tart_?"

Tavington held back a laugh, his eyes shining with mockery.

"Aside from your cherubic demeanor, _what_ are you _wearing_?" he lowered his gaze to her fitted boot-cut jeans. "I can see your ass better than the sunrise."

Nat reddened.

"Well I'm not going to walk around in a gunnysack! These are _women's_ clothes! They're perfectly acceptable-"

"And _that_," Tavington's eyes raked upward to her white t-shirt, "are you offering your services to me?"

"You can't fucking see _anything_!" Nat shouted defensively, balling her hands into fists. "This shit is _not_ see-through! Quit dickin' around!"

"My dear, I can see _everything_," Williams' mouth curled.

"Whore!" Nat steamed.

Enjoying the moment far too much to be angry, the colonel watched as Nat's mouth opened and closed, her face contorting as her anger grew; the reddened tips of her ears, he found particularly endearing.

"Stop fussing, it was only a compliment," he interjected to diffuse her fit.

"Telling me you checked me out is a compliment?" Nat fumed.

"It should be." Tavington replied. "You'd fetch quite a pretty purse back home."


	13. Chapter 13

"You just think it's so easy, don't you?" she spat.

Tavington's smug grin widened.

"There is an art to it, I must say."

"I am _not_ sleeping with you."

"Of course not," William agreed. "It is merely an exchange. Such…_niceties_ must not be permitted," he hardly appeared to move his mouth, but each word was tactfully spoken, ending with the colonel pulling his upper lip back in an expression of disdain.

"You are _not getting your _kicks _here_."

"No; you're not what I have in mind anyway," the colonel replied, returning to a neutral expression.

"Yeah, you like them trussed up-" Nat interjected.

"Naked, actually," Tavington replied brazenly. "Dressed to start, and _eager_. I won't fuck a dead fish."

"You pay for that?" Nat asked aloud, her distaste growing.

William shrugged, buttoning up the top of his shirt.

"Sometimes, though usually the lady of choice and I have an _accord_."

"I won't ask." Nat raiased her hands.

Tavington's expression lightened in agreement.

"While we're having this… conversation, I need to discuss a few things with you."

"Strategy?" the colonel crossed his arms curiously.

"Call it that; meet me in the TV room?"

"Very well," William swallowed, "Only because _I_ agree that a civil rapport of sorts must begin."

Nat gave a quick nod and headed off with Mo following close behind, banging his tail on the wall. Tavington lingered and quietly observed some 'paintings', captivated by their lifelike appearance.

There was a portrait of a young woman whom he realized was Nat; she was standing near a large white building, domed with columns at its entrance. Her hair looked the same, blonde and red, cut somewhere between a bob and a pixie, though she appeared more tan, with a blue shirt and a pair of 'hideous' looking breeches. Through it all, she was smiling, and he warmed at her happy expression.

"Hey! I'm _aging_ here!" Nat interrupted him from the television room.

"God," Tavington huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Jeez, you're the officer, not me," the woman spoke dramatically when he stepped into the room.

"Did Mo die?" William asked dryly, lifting a brow to emphasize his 'concern'.

"No… Why?" Nat asked confused.

"Then there is no need to rush, yes?" he replied, raising his voice and octave for the last word.

"What else could you possibly be doing?" Nat questioned back.

"Your portrait in the hall was crooked," he replied.

"So?"

Eying a depiction of an oceanic scene next to the woman's head, he gestured to it, walked up next to Nat, and tilted the frame.

"What-"

"Does that bother you, even in the slightest?" he asked, with a hint of excitement. "Stand back and look at it."

Nat sighed but did as she was told. The picture was nearly perfect, but tipped at just an angle so that she would notice that something was not quite in place. Tavington motioned for her to continue observing while he sat down and crossed one ankle over his other knee, taking much glee in her growing discomfort.

"So it's crooked; who cares?"

"Well don't you want to fix it?" the colonel replied, barely able to keep a laugh from his voice.

Nat puckered her face and twitched her fingers.

"It is only a tad out of line, hardly noticeable," he goaded lightly.

"No," Nat gave in and straightened the portrait.

"Now, you shouldn't interrupt someone who is straightening a portrait. All balance will be lost, and then what would you have?" Tavington admonished with a dramatic overtone.

"Not going to bug me," Nat replied, scrunching her face.

"Suit yourself," William gestured for her to settle across from him. "Now, we reach the point of this meeting, yes?" he looked at her expectantly.

"Um, yeah." Nat paused. She was still adjusting to his mannerisms. "Look, it's…_nice_ having you here-"

Tavington hid a snort of jest and allowed her to continue.

"But my boss isn't going to buy me saying that I have a historical relic staying with me indefinitely, so… I have to go back to work."

"Work?" Col. Tavington asked, clearly befuddled.

"Uh _yeah_." Nat replied with slight sarcasm.

"You work?" he asked.

"I do. I even get _paid_." She mocked.

"Please… surely you are not a doxie-"

"Thanks-" Nat spoke in a flat tone, crossing her arms to keep from chewing her nails.

"You're too… _brazen_ and ill-mannered to be a servant…"

"I work at a coffee stand-" Nat cut in, flushing with embarrassment."

"Coffee, you say?" Tavington's interest peaked and he reclined further. "So the trade survived?"

"Most of it is overseas; we buy coffee from other countries and bring it here."

"I see," William frowned thoughtfully, his features softening; Nat visibly relaxed. "Where do you get your coffee? What parts of the world, if not from here?"

"Mexico, Peru, Uruguay, and Africa, among others."

Tavington's eyes widened and he moved closer to the edge of his seat.

"The coffee industry is quite large here." Nat added.

"But how?" William asked. "Traveling across the Atlantic takes several weeks at best."

Nat chewed her lip, picking at her fingernail before she replied, "Ships are a lot faster these days. Several times faster, and we use different fuel, like oil."

"Really, is that so?"

"It's a really long, drawn out, controversial story." She explained. "Oil is a big commodity right now. Anyway, yes, coffee, it's a pretty booming business."

"So, you're well off then?"

"Me?" Nat asked. "No, not really. I'm just a barista."

"Barista?" Tavington questioned.

"I make coffee drinks and serve them. "It holds me up for now, mainly because the place I work is doing all right for business. But if you really want to make it, then going for a management position would be better."

"You can do that?" he asked, still amazed at how much freedom the woman appeared to have.

"Technically yes," Nat replied. "But not right now. "I would hardly ever be home if I took that job. "And Mo? He's kind of a baby; doesn't like being home alone for so long."

William snorted.

"Look, he gets into the garbage when I'm gone for too long. Once I work out that little issue with him, maybe. But it's a bitchy world up top." She elaborated.

This, William could relate to, and he cast her a look of understanding.

"Superior business…" he offered.

"That a bit," Nat tried to stay within the constraints of his lexical abilities. "Anyway, back to point; I have work tomorrow. You have to stay _here_. Do _not_ leave the house unless it's to take Mo outside."

Tavington made to argue but she held up her hand.

"He needs to go out to do his business. It's _not_ that big of a deal. Just take him out, let him pee. If he poops, put it in a bag and throw it in the doggie trash next to the sidewalk. You don't have to take him for walks. I'll show you the leash and the bags in a bit." she finished, still thinking of what else she might need to provide him with. "I'll have food already made in the refrigerator for you. Nothing to heat up; just eat it as it is."

"You do realize that all of that will get dull within minutes," William frowned.

"Read?" Nat offered?

"What about the…. Picture-box?"

"Not yet." Nat replied. "Books. And, I'll show you the music player. That shouldn't be too bad."

"So, you expect me to sit and read, and watch the dog, _all_ _day_?" William deadpanned.

"Yeah," Nat answered. "Pretty much."

"I hardly sit still for fifteen minutes, let alone an hour." he started to argue. "What sort of madness is this?"

"Just one day," she spoke up. "I don't want you going out on your own and having someone jump you or you get in a tiff because someone things you're a manman."

"But I'm _not_ mad."

"Dude, you're two hundred years old. People don't usually take to that idea quite readily. There's bound to be some differences."

"I see," Tavington's jaw tightened. "One day, and we shall work it out from there."


	14. Chapter 14

The morning sky was still nearly dark; bleak grey attempted to peek through when Nat awoke. She had an early shift and wanted start it before she could regret getting up at such a dark hour any longer. Smartly, she wrote a list the previous night, meticulously scripting out the details for Mo's daily care and labeling household appliances and food.. Deciding to skip breakfast and grab a bagel at work, Nat dressed in silence, putting her work-cap on backwards. It was just the touch of rebellion she needed before acting like an 'adult' on the job.

Tavington, in all irony, was still asleep, and soundly so, on the couch. Nat wandered across from the television room; a mischievous thought caught her attention and the corner of her mouth twitched with anticipation. Walking steadily to the kitchen, she winced as the linoleum creaked underfoot, waking Mo, who looked about and whined.

"Mo!" she choked.

Tavington stirred and let out a breath.

"Thank god. Mo, _dammit_…"

Mo's ears drooped and his expression was as close to a human frown as it could be. Nat ignored the downtrodden pooch and continued to the refrigerator, opening it and wincing once more when it made a suction noise as it opened. Again, the colonel did not wake. With a little more grace, the woman managed to retrieve a pitcher of water and a glass, which she poured half-full, setting the pitcher on the counter when she finished.

"This should be just perfect."

Padding out of the kitchen, Nat paused momentarily, noting just how _loud_ her bare feat sounded when they stuck and unstuck to the linoleum floor.

"Fuck you, light sleepers," she murmured, stepping just outside of the television room.

Mo, who had been sleeping in his bed across from Tavington looked up and wagged his tail excitedly.

"Please _shut up_," Nat murmured, stopping cold.

Mo's response was to pant loudly and start up from his bed.

"Down…_down_!" she wheezed.

Mo paused and looked quizzically.

"Just sit there; I'll pay ya double," the woman offered.

Mo settled down with his head between his paws, looking uncertainly from the left to the right while Nat crept further into the room.

Col. Tavington was stretched across the whole couch, the wool blanket he had been given reaching up to his bare chest, with one arm crooked over his head and the other resting below his chest. His hair was unbound and Nat's mouth curled into a wicked grin.

"Oooo…"

Before anything could go awry, she dumped the cup of chilled water right onto Tavington's head, and it seeped all over his face and into his hair while he awoke with start, brandishing a knife and flashing a murderous stare.

"Hey, easy!" Nat jumped back.

"The _fuck_ are you _doing_?!" Tavington yelled, skipping the nervous sputter altogether. "Have you got shit for brains?!"

"It was a _joke_!" Nat stumbled. "You dropped me on the floor, I poured water on you!" she tried to reason.

"Ridiculously _stupid_ **_prat_**!" he shouted, still gripping the dagger.

"Will you put that away?!" Nat took another step back while Mo whined, sensing the new tension in the room. "You're scaring the dog!"

"Oh I'm scaring the dog… Are you out of your goddamn mind, woman?!"

"Normal people don't sleep with knives!" Nat protested.

Tavington gaped at her.

"Idiot! You certainly _would_ if you were a soldier!"

"Can you please put it down?" Nat cried lamely. "I- I'm sorry."

"Dung-bag," Tavington continued to glare at her as he lowered the knife. "That is your _one_ warning."

"Fine, _shit-stain_," Nat muttered; as much as she may have deserved the berating, 'dung-bag' was overstepping things, in her opinion; the colonel did not answer and either did not hear her, or chose not to acknowledge her jest. "I'm still leaving you home, so you'd better _pay attention_."

Tavington sat up, stretching forward before straightening his back and crossed his arms. His hair was still damp from Nat's trickery, and a drop of water fell down the side of his cheek.

"Go on," he drawled, trying her with a hostile, jeering, cat-like look.

"First off, this isn't the fucking Inquisition." She glared pointedly back.

Tavington retreated to a more demure, innocent expression, though his eyes still laughed at her uneasy stance, shifting from foot to foot.

"Secondly," she continued, "I'll feed Mo this morning; two cups of food. It's in the bag that says "Small to Medium Dog Breeds" on it. You'll do the same in the evening, around four. Just _two_ cups. Now, an hour after he eats this morning, you'll get the leash hanging on the hook by the front door and take Mo out to go pee. Just in the front yard. And, make sure he _always_ has water. Any time after that, if he needs to go, he'll stand by the door and whine."

William sighed, embarrassed at the prospect of being ordered around by a mere _creature_.

"If Mo decides to be _stubborn_ and _not_ let you know, take him out every three hours. Don't wait, or he'll piss the carpet."

"He should not even be _in_ here." Tavington grumbled to himself. "Staked outside, more like it…"

"If he gets _bored_," Nat raised her voice to reclaim his wandering attention, "give him one of his toys, and if he wants to play with you, toss it for him."

"_Toss_ him his _toy_?" Tavington echoed. "What beast is allowed such privileges? I am _not_ a slave, and certainly _not_ a slave to a _dog_!"

"He was here _first_," Nat countered. "Earn your place."

"I shouldn't have to," Tavington fought back, tightening his arms.

"Fine, then Mo will piss on the carpet and ruin the house!"

"Well you do leave him at home alone, do you not?"

Nat paused, lost for words.

"Yes…"

"Then why is he in _my_ charge?" the colonel snapped.

"Because you're _here_," she implored. "It wouldn't be fair to Mo-"

"He's got feeling now?"

Nat lost her nerve and shouted, "You _shut it_! Yes, he does have feelings, as _stupid_ as you might think he is! And while you're here, you'll take care of him, or I kick you out!"

The colonel nearly laughed, but was sensitive enough to see that his hostess was tiring of their rapport; for the time being, he would play along.

"All right. You have my word. Mo shall be…_unharmed_."

"Good," Nat let out a silent breath. "Food is labeled in the fridge. _Don't_ touch the stove."


	15. Chapter 15

Fifteen minutes later, Nat was gone, leaving the colonel and Mo with a decidedly annoyed 'click' of the front door. The beagle mix, already full aware that his new 'house guest' did not feel particularly fond of him, slunk toward the door, head bowed, and sulked for a moment while Tavington stared after him, feeling a mixture of dislike and discomfort; in an attempt to right himself, he straightened his posture, hardened his shoulders and crossed his arms, giving Mo a contemptuous glare.

"And what do you suppose that will do, hm?" he challenged the dog.

Mo reluctantly turned his head to the man, rolling his eyes halfway up to look at him, and whimpered before he tucked his tail and rolled onto his back.

"What," Tavington asked sharply.

Mo cried louder and unfurled his tail.

"No," the colonel answered, not comprehending the pet's message. "You're _pathetic_."

William turned to leave but Mo would not be dissuaded, and let out a loud, high-pitched bark.

"Christ, what in the _hell_ is your problem?!" He snapped.

Mo turned back on his belly and got up, looking eagerly at the man.

"You're an idiot." The colonel spoke with pointed impatience.

Mo sneezed and snorted, walking slowly up to the soldier and rubbed hard against him.

"Pitiful! Just the-"

Tavington did not finish; the dog had stopped, lifted its leg and aimed right at his 'new' socks.

"_You_," his face tightened and shook with a bubbling wrath. "Outside. _Now_."

Gingerly removing his stockings, William wrinkled his nose and tossed them aside, grabbed Mo's leash and clipped it on his collar.

Starting toward the door, he paused to read the sign Nat had taped on the knob for him.

_Unlock the door before you leave. Lock when you return. Do __**not**_ _lock yourself out._

Finding the locking mechanism was easy enough, right in the middle of the knob, and it took only a couple of jiggles and turns to figure out how the thing worked. William would have toyed with it longer but was well aware of Mo's outside business needs.

"Hurry, will you?" He muttered as he loosened the lead when they reached the yard. "It's bloody chilled out here." He hissed. "And I don't need _your_ piss smell on _my_ stockings reeking up the house."

The dog wagged his tail, half-distracted by the gentle rustle of the grass.

"Good lord," William groaned, tugging impatiently at the lead; Mo, however, would not be persuaded from his wanderings.

Another few minutes later, when the colonel was sure his ankle would go numb from tapping his bare foot on the grass, Mo obediently went about satisfying his bathroom needs and happily wiggled his body as he looked up at Tavington, pleased with his accomplishment.

William remained unamused, and tugged the leash, urging Mo back into the house while he grumbled under his breath.

Mo followed, slouched low, beside him.

"Come off it! You took a _piss_! A damn _piss_! That's _it_." He spoke with a surly voice when they arrived in the entryway.

Mo glanced a moment from his downcast position, curling his tail around his legs where he sat, waiting to be unclipped from the leash.

"You _are_ a _simpleton_." Tavington sniffed, freeing the animal and then stepping away to put distance between himself and the canine.

By now, Mo looked nothing short of devastated, and even the colonel, for all his ripe attitude, noticed that the dog appeared to be genuinely emotionally affected.

"Now _what_?" He groused, hiding his discomfort with cross vexation.

Mo slowly got up and shuffled, tail tucked, to Tavington until he stood before him.

"_What_ are you saying, _beast_?" William asked, throwing up his arms in an exaggerated manner.

Mo tucked down into a sit and raised a paw, pressing it to the soldier's leg, right about the knee, and looked up at him pleadingly.

"What…" William stared incredulously down at the animal, trying to decide whether or not he was furious or taken aback.

Mo continued to stare pawed lightly at his pant-leg, letting out a series of high-pitched whines.

"Will you…_ stop it_…_that_," Tavington pointed at the dog's eyes; Mo remained unfazed and the colonel realized that the dumb creature might have foiled him, if for but a moment.

"I don't understand," he murmured, kneeling down to Mo's level; the dog eagerly jumped around and licked him front-on, on his face, to which Tavington responded with a hearty shove. "Nat is bloody mad. You _still_ belong on the streets. Mark my words, alley-scum... but _she_ likes you, even if you haven't a single wit between your ears. So, for now, until further arrangements can be put in order, you'll stay."

As if to further his point, Tavington scratched the dog between his ears and Mo reacted with more jovial tail wagging, and attempted once more to smother the man with affection.

"Get _off_," William deflected him a second time. "I can still lock you away; but first, my _stockings_."

Leading Mo into the television room, the colonel ordered him to stay in his bed while he went to search for a washbucket. Unaccustomed to the washing machine or dryer and not wishing to ruin something that appeared to be more complex than he could overcome, Tavington chose to wash his clothing in a simpler way.

"Do you not have a single _bucket_?" he murmured, opening various cupboard doors in the kitchen, finding cutlery, flatware, and glasses, but not a single pail was to be found.

William sighed in aggravation, eying the kitchen sink reluctantly. He knew well enough how it functioned and hesitantly agreed to use it for wash; with added upset, he could not find any soap, and resorted to using the dish cleaner he had seen Nat use earlier in his still-recent stay. At least it would get the urine out.

"No washbin, and no designated _soap_," William sniffed carefully turning the faucet on, watching as the water poured out of its own accord, and slowly adjusted the heat midway between the red and blue indicators. "_This_ is the future, you say? A bit manky and backward then…" He gritted his teeth and poured the soap into the water and over his socks, scrubbing them roughly together. "I'll be _damned_."

Although the washing was brief, Tavington worked into a furor, desperate to remove any offensive scent that may have lingered, leaving his hands red and feeling scratched. Still, he did not miss wringing them tightly out before he fetched a hanger that had been left in the bathroom, and hung the socks up to dry, hanging from the bathroom door.

A groan from the television room told the soldier that Mo was feeling neglected, so he backstepped from the bathroom doorway to the dog, who stood in his bed, tail wagging.

"You just went out," Tavington spoke with a deadpan expression.

Mo cocked his head sideways and picked up one of his toys, a red Kong, with a tiny treat rolling around inside.

"What's this?" William asked aloud, getsturing to the toy as he sat down on the couch; immediately, he thought himself stupid for asking a dog to identify an object.

Mo ambled over to him and raised his head up, holding the toy proudly in his mouth for Tavington to accept.

William grimaced as he noticed a rather ample thread of drool suspended from the corner of the dog's mouth.

"_No_," he answered with finality. "_That_ is _ghastly_."

Mo wasn't listening and before he could protest, the dog dropped the toy right into Tavington's lap. The man shuddered visibly, and returned Mo's eager look with one of utmost dislike.

"That parlay…" he warned, but paused at a closer look at the dog, who had eagerly stepped back and bowed on his forelegs in a play position, tail wagging, eyes bouncing from object to object while he waited for Tavington to do something, _anything_ with the Kong, so long as he got to have it back.

"Once," he conceded and lobbed the toy lazily across the room, wiping his hand on his jeans while Mo gleefully fetched the thing and gnawed on it, making it squeak and pop for several minutes before he looked back at William, crestfallen that he could not retrieve the delicious prize inside.

"Now what is it?" Tavington asked as Mo looked helplessly over at him, the Kong wedged tightly in his mouth; the dog let out a cry and sneezed, shaking his head and toy.

"Well bring it here," William made a 'come' motion, still refusing to believe that he was serving a mere animal.

Mo stepped over to him, head bowed, and set the Kong gently in his waiting hand. William closed his eyes, feeling the saliva coat the toy.

"You're _disgusting_," he murmured, fishing around for the kiblet-treat until he managed to pull it out. "And you're _never_ going to learn. Next time, I won't be so amiable, _dog_."

Mo paid no attention to the warning and gulped the treat with a zestful whimper that made even William hide a hinted smile.

"Well if that is all you want…You might _not_ yet, be the death of me."


	16. Chapter 16

Though he may have shown something of an inkling of care for Nat's dog, Tavington remained stoutly against the slobbery happenings that occurred while entertaining Mo. When five more tosses had been lobbed, and the Kong chewed and salivated on, the colonel got up, holding his hands out, palms up, in distaste while the beagle mix continued to chew and gnaw happily at the toy.

Thinking he might first use the kitchen sink for washing, William changed his mind, and headed toward the bathroom, slowly testing the knob. First, he turned it slightly right and pushed; it opened.

"Odd," the colonel frowned in thought, feeling more comfortable to explore on his own than in the presence of his hostess.

Bringing the door to a close, he listened especially to the clicking sound it made.

"But, the locking device," he wondered, opening up the door to examine it more closely.

There was a metal piece, screwed into the side of the door, with a sort of knob that stuck out, but when pushed, would retreat into the side of the door, between the piece that surrounded it.

"How?" he asked to no one. "A coil, perhaps? A wire coiling mechanism, I wonder? Or a hinge? No, that would be too slow for this sort of thing. I wonder," Tavington eyed two screws attached to the metal piece and though his familiarity was with nails, he recognized that by dislodging the screws, the piece would come off. But, realizing the foolishness of attempting such a thing on his own, Tavington stood up and shook the notion off before heading into the bathroom to clean his slobbered hands.

"My god, where's the light?" he questioned, staring into the black room. "Flint…" he patted the pockets of his pants before remembering that in _this_ age, there were other means of attaining light, and, he had left his flint in _his_ riding breeches.

Grumbling unintelligibly, he groped for the switch and flicked it on with a snort.

The sink, again, was no concern. After a moment of turning the water to its hottest allowance, William quickly found a happy medium and squirted some soap into his hand.

"I don't understand; a _bar _was no less problematic. And where would I store this… bottled soap? No, it would leak in my saddlebags! Stupid riffraff creations…"

Once his hands were clean, Tavington used the hand-towel to dry them, pleased that _something_ was familiar and normal to him. Then, not even meaning any nosiness, he spotted an opening on the side of the sink mirror. Nat had not told him of this, and he himself hated it when someone other than he touched his belongings. However, for the time being, Nat's home was his, until he could return to his own time and place, _if_ such a thing was to be deemed possible.

After a closer look at the mirror, Tavington tried one of the sides, tightening his lips into a line when it would not give. Smartly, he avoided tearing the thing apart and tried the other side, which opened to reveal three shelves, evenly spaced and piled with various odds and ends, of which he knew nothing about.

Scanning the shelf with wide, curious eyes, he spotted a box labeled 'Band-Aid' and pulled it from the shelf, saving a box of wads of white fluff from falling off the shelf in turn.

"Band…aid," he read slowly. "Bandaid?"

Tavington looked the box over; it appeared to show tan strips that were used to cover wounds. Prising it open, he nearly laughed out loud.

"These are bandages?" he questioned with a loud snigger. "Those won't cover a thing! Maybe bullet grazes and burns, but _really_. What on earth has happened to practicality?"

Tavington closed the box, leering at it patronizingly as he set it back on the shelf before reaching for another interesting packet.

"Tampax." He raised a brow and then grew a brilliant scarlet as he read further instructions on the package.

"It _what_?" he started. "For menstruation…"

William couldn't resist; he all but ripped open the box, neglecting it on the floor, and took one of the things in his hand. "_This_ goes _up_ and stalls the bleeding?" he eyed the thing in its plastic casing with disbelief. "It looks like a whore's plaything, or a highly uncomfortable _stopper_."

A feeling of disgust began to creep into the back of his mind; Tavington was certainly no slouch with women, but this particular item did not sit well with him. He looked for the rubbish bin, near the toilet and quickly disposed of the sanitary item; the box remained unforgotten on the floor as he hastily exited the bathroom.

"She's mad," Tavington declared, meeting Mo in the television room. "The woman a libertine. There's nothing else for it."

Mo cocked his head and curled his tail.

"Did you see what she has in _there_?" he jabbed his finger toward the bathroom. "Toys! Little _whore's_ toys!"

Mo whined and ducked down.

"And _bandages_! They don't even work!" he raised his voice. "Good lord, this place is going to rot."

Mo groaned and followed William as he sat deeply upon the couch.

"I thought we were supposed to _advance_ in the future," he murmured in a troubled voice. "Perhaps we have; but all of this? It is so _very_ confusing."

Mo, comprehending that his new guest was upset about something, rested his head on Tavington's knee, lifting it slightly when the man flinched and settled it back down when the colonel saw that no harm was done.

"I don't like this," Col. Tavington continued, scowling when his stomach churned. "And now, I am supposed to find food?"

Remembering that Nat had left a note on the fridge, he reluctantly unstuck himself from the couch and ambled to the kitchen, with Mo at his heels. Noticing that Mo's water bowl was empty, he dutifully filled it before looking for his own meal.

The note on the fridge did nothing to help William's befuddlement.

"Lunchables, and peanut butter and jelly sandwich, top shelf…" he read perplexedly, before opening the fridge door with haste. "What is a bloody 'lunchable'?"

Scanning upward, he spotted a yellow box that read "Lunchables: Pizza" on the side, next to something that looked vaguely like bread, wrapped in a clear material that he did not recognize.

Though the pizza sounded interesting enough, William was more familiar with the sandwich, and reached for it instead.

"This wrapping… ugh!" he made a face when the plastic wrap stuck to his hands. "Stupid…"

Tearing at the wrap, Tavington managed to keep the sandwich from shredding and pulled it free, inspecting it closely until he deemed it edible.

"This is _not_ bread!" he snarled, after taking a bite. "Jam of some sort, perhaps, and what is this peanut spread? It's all too _sweet_! And this bread… what kind of cock and bull made this?"

He abandoned the sandwich on the counter and contemplated the pizza for another moment before deciding against it once more. It was better to go hungry than to eat strange food that may be poisoned.

"There has to be something," William spoke, frowning as his stomach continued to churn.

Reluctantly, he resorted to the pizza, removing the box and carefully looking over the instructions.

"This is cheese? It's terrible," Tavington picked at the grated mozzarella that had come with the pizza, even less convinced that the food wasn't unhealthy.

"One bite," he assured himself as he finished constructing the first pizza.

Still wary about the pepperoni, Tavington added only two slices before trying the new food.

"That is _not_ real cheese," He decided.

The meat however, was spicy and caught his interest.

"Salty," Tavington wondered aloud. "But it's not cured. What type of meat, I wonder?"

He looked at the box that had been discarded on the counter.

"Pepper-own-ee…" William read. "Italian then. At least _something_ is in relative order."

Not feeling too put out from this new cuisine, William at another 'pizza' and then left the rest, still unsure of what to make from it. He looked up from his meal just in time to see Mo standing nearby, wagging is tail and groaning.

"That time, yes?" he supposed.

Meeting the dog at the door, William had a significantly easier time, clipping on Mo's leash and led him outside, where the animal wasted no time in emptying his bladder before bounding back to the door with Tavington close behind.

Though he had managed to entertain himself for the first few hours, Col. Tavington was quickly growing bored and decided to take a look at some of the books Nat kept in the television room while Mo lumbered over to his bed and laid down, watching the soldier with an intent eye, his ears pricked in the man's direction.

Skimming the small shelf of books, Tavington came across a title that was not a chronicle, but a Blu-Ray disc case.

"Harry Potter… and the Order of the Phoenix," He read the title, his eyes widening when he took in the cover; it was _him_!

"What is this mess? Some sort of hoax?" Tavington asked, suddenly frustrated.

The figure on the cover looked exactly like him, but this man had unnaturally _blond_ hair.

"But that is _my_ face." William fought. "Who is this? An imposter, perhaps?"


	17. Chapter 17

"Shit," Nat murmured as she arrived at her car, where a neat white notice had been taped to her windshield.

"I was two minutes late, _fucker_...!"

Snatching the ticket up from the car window, she gave a loud huff and marched a block to the ticket kiosk.

"Hello Nat!" A woman, middle aged with dyed copper hair greeted her with a sugary smile.

"I was _two minutes_ late; what's this crap for?" she thrust the ticket in the woman's face.

"Nat, you were late," the woman sighed. "You _can_ contest it."

"Holly, I'm not going to _contest_ it. It was _two_ minutes!"

"How's your track record?" the woman called Holly interrupted.

Nat fell silent, working her mouth into a funny angle as her frustration increased.

"All right. I'll pay it-"

"And watch that mouth of yours," Holly added.

Nat inhaled and took a moment to collect herself.

"Sorry; things are a bit chaotic at home.

"Oh?" Holly inquired.

"It's really complicated; kind of an unexpected surprise-"

"Old boyfriend?"

"Oh no! Not that; he's just visiting."

"Just visiting," Holly repeated bemusedly.

"He's a pain in the ass," Nat said in a flat voice.

"All right; pay the ticket then," Holly changed the subject and dismissed her. "Don't be late next time."

* * *

Nat arrived home, just past seven in the evening, as Tavington was taking Mo back inside from a bathroom trip. Mo, spotting his mistress from the corner of his eye, gave an excited bark and tugged at the leash until it began to dig into the colonel's hand.

"Quit your lollygagging!" William hissed and pulled Mo to a sit.

"Well, I see you two have bonded nicely," Nat said with a sardonic tone, standing with her hands on her hips.

"We have," Tavington answered lightly, ushering the canine back into the apartment.

"So…" Nat asked awkwardly, pulling her boots off in the entryway, "What did you do while I was gone?"

Tavington raised a brow and glanced sideways at her.

"Have I done something wrong?" he inquired.

"I don't know; have you?" she countered with a sigh.

"Your dog has been fed and the house is in order."

"Good," Nat replied absently.

"What in the world did you leave me for a meal?" Tavington started abruptly. "It was godawful."

Nat's lips tightened.

"It's pizza."

"Pizza-?"

I couldn't let you use the oven or microwave. Definitely _not_ the stove-"

"So you fed me _that_?" the colonel sniffed.

"Just for now," she replied wearily. "You made it through, right?"

"Of course I _made it_!" Tavington snapped.

"Jeez," Nat held up her hands. "What's your problem?"

"My, you could afford to be a more gracious hostess," Tavington purred with condescending politeness, lifting the corners of his mouth for emphasis.

"You know, you're no easy keeper either," Nat's patience shriveled.

"Oh, and you're better?"

"Asshole," she retorted.

Tavington laughed mockingly.

"You're really just a puff of hot air, aren't you?" he goaded. "I have yet to see you execute a successful blow."

"It's not all war here!" Nat came undone. "I'm not your enemy-"

"Then please, stop being such an _unbearable wench_-" Tavington grated.

Nat, silent with anger, could only gape.

"You expect me to sit here, in this _house_ and care for your dog while you're away? And, do you think I will simply _accept_ this new change of worlds and just fall into a new order of being?"

"That's not fair."

"The _least_ you could do," Tavington sharpened his tone to a firm staccato note, "Is teach me a little about _your_ world, as I have no knowledge whether or not I will stay or leave. But leaving me blind to this unexpected arrangement is _rude_, if not _shameful_."

"Because you're the only one who's been turned bass-akward by all of this," Nat smarted. "I just got done telling someone you were a pain in the ass."

"Oh god forgive me," William rolled his eyes.

"You'd better hope so!"

"And why is that?"

"You're a heartless dick!" Nat shouted.

Mo whined in distress, dropping flat on the floor, and tucked his head between his paws, curling his tail around his legs.

"I'd rather be heartless than a loose little whore, who keeps her _things_ in the washroom. Have you no morality?" Tavington shouted back in a hiss, raising his clenched fists.

"I-what?" Nat became confused.

"Tam-pax," William explained. "They're…_digusting_."

Nat laughed aloud.

"Damn, you _are_ fresh!"

William stepped back.

"What are you talking about?"

"Those are for periods…'monthlies'." She elaborated with air quotes.

"Yes that is what the words on the parcel read, but-" Tavington's expression soured.

"No, I don't keep toys in the bathroom," Nat smirked.

"Good," the colonel replied sternly before backtracking. "Hang on; you-"

Nat's mischievous grin widened.

"I keep those in the bedroom."


	18. Chapter 18

"In the_ bedroom_," William's voice was resoundingly flat with disbelief.

"What? I don't just leave them lying around. Germs, ya know?" Nat shrugged.

"Well that just solidifies it," Tavington said sharply. "You're naught but a _harlot_."

Nat bristled and chewed her lip.

"I am not-"

"Perhaps," William replied haughtily, "You have no clientele that I have yet seen, and you seem to have to work for your own pleasure."

"You little shit!" Nat snarled. "I told you, I am _not_ a whore! I can please myself, when I want to."

"Surely," William agreed silvery, "But a wooden replacement will still give you _slivers_."

The woman hid a snort of laughter.

"It's still probably better than you," she replied, reddening with delight at his sudden puff of anger, "And, it isn't _wooden_."

"Oh?" Tavington sniffed, "Porcelain, then?"

"No, that's cold."

This time, it was William's turn to laugh.

"Can't warm it up then?"

"I still do, but dildos are more… realistic," she finished.

"You cannot possibly duplicate something so…" William left the sentence hanging with a barb on the corner of his mouth.

"Actually, we _can_," She answered ominously.

"I don't believe you," he smiled daringly, and crossed his arms.

"Fine, I don't have to show you my _dick_," Nat snorted, enjoying his look of surprise at her crass behavior.

"You'll show me, unless, of course, you're just blowing hot."

"Yeah, don't get jealous," Nat rolled her eyes.

"Hardly…"

Beckoning with her hand, Nat led the way into her bedroom and waited while her guest paused to take in the room. Her bed was large, possibly larger than any he had had the privilege of sleeping in, even if it was only a double sized mattress, blanketed with a navy duvet. The carpet was a light grey, and there was a pair of shoes near the entryway, behind the door. Across from the bed were doors that opened to a small closet. Other than the shoes and closet, and two nightstands with lamps, it was sparsely furnished; something Tavington took pride in his own character for.

"Well come in," Nat cut through his thoughts, "You won't get to see it just standing there."

Tavington shrugged out of his stupor and instinctively stepped through the doorway and settled himself… on the edge of her bed.

"My god, what are you sleeping on?" he wondered immediately. "Is this down?"

Nat, momentarily relieved from having to share intimacies with her guest, happily obliged his query

"It's cotton and stuffing," she replied. "All man made."

"Cotton?" his interest furthered. "From where? Do they still do business in the South then?"

"Oh… no, the cotton is mostly imported."

"Shame," Tavington replied absently. "It was rather successful…"

"We ran into some political problems, not long after you…left."

William frowned, questioning her silently.

"It's a long story," she covered.

"Conveniently," Tavington answered thinly.

"It _is_," Nat pressed. "Now dildo or not?"

"Ugh," William wrinkled his nose at her bold openness about a topic that women were all but forbidden to express without soiling their reputations.

"Come on, you see yours every day-"

"And it's _real_."

"Well sorry, not all of us can afford a night out," Nat silenced him. "Just a minute."

The woman stepped over to her close and slid open one of the doors to reveal a small, but practical looking dresser before she bent down to the bottom drawer and pulled it open, rummaging momentarily before letting out an "Aha!"

Tavington, who had been left sitting on the bed, straightened up and looked over as she turned to face him.

"This is my dick," Nat spoke with a quirky, mischievous smile as she held the toy in her hands.

William, not one to give the lady immediate satisfaction, hid his surprise well and took the dildo from Nat to study, murmuring under his breath as she smiled giddily down at him.

"Maddening…this isn't real? And, it's… circumcised," he touched it, feeling light wrinkles and soft, fleshy skin; it was even toned to appear like real human tissue, pink and aroused. "You didn't just… chop it off?"

"No," Nat's smile broadened. "I'm not that much of a bitch. It's made of synthetics. Rubber, latex…"

"But it's so _dry_," he frowned. "You'd trade a man for something that will leave you chafed?"

"Hey, that's what lubricant is for." Nat replied. "If you really want to spend your money, you can get one that vibrates."

William's mask fell and he all but gaped at her.

"Are you mad?"

"Okay, so, we're really sensitive down there-"

"Obviously," Tavington retorted.

"Right, so, sometimes, a girl needs a bit more… umph."

The colonel raised an eyebrow.

"Blithering idiot, what do you mean?"

"_Stimulation_." Nat replied, ignoring his thorny reaction. "We feel everything down there, but we don't get going quite like you do."

"Hmm…"

Tavington considered her words momentarily.

"Are you trying to say that I must improve my performance, or be bested by… _this_?" his eyes narrowed.

Nat felt her cheeks flush.

"No," she replied more calmly than she felt, "It's just there for a woman to deal with things on her own."

"Why?"

"Because we're allowed to be sexually active even if we're not in relationships. No one really cares nowadays, and we're not called whores for it either." She finished stoutly. "At least not as much as we used to be."

"But you are," Tavington pressed, feeling challenged, "Either that or you're some high gentry class who can afford such amenities."

Nat sighed and settled down on the bed next to him, taking the dildo and tossing it out of sight.

"Let's get one thing straight; women have rights now. We can marry, divorce, have kids, work, all on our own terms. So, before you go shitting around on some unsuspecting soul, keep in mind that they can probably haul your ass into tons of trouble.

"But that won't happen, will it?" the colonel said softly, returning to his leering expression. "I'm worth too much the risk."

"Fine, but in the event that you _do_ leave this house, you will not say a word about your military status or anything else about you that isn't up to date. Clear?"

"And where do I benefit?" Tavington asked coyly.

"Well, you're not in a ward," Nat said tartly.

Tavington tisked and glanced at the bed before returning to meet her gaze. "I'll stay _here_."

Nat's mouth opened in protest.

"This is my room! You have the couch!"

"But you do want the best for your new guest, do you not?" he purred, leaning closer to her. "Shunning me to the couch… just won't do…"

"Fine, take the bed. But do _not_ touch the closet."

Tavington coughed out a dry laugh.

"Believe me, I won't be getting anywhere near that _false_ manhood of yours."


	19. Chapter 19

Nat, still in disbelief over the colonel's claim to new space, still headed to her room when she turned in for bed, to find her door closed and locked.

With a contemptuous snort, she puckered her lips and yelled, "Hey! Let me in!"

There was a moment's pause and Tavington opened the door, completely undressed, but was cleverly hidden by the door from the waist down.

"Did you not remember?" he questioned with such a polite voice that she nearly forgot the man was mocking her.

"Uh– _screw you_!" Nat came to her senses and tried to shove the door further open, but Tavington barricaded each effort with a mischievous grin.

"No, we have an _accord_."

"Fuck that! I'm not dealing with Mo before it's time to get up!" she attempted a loud complaint but merely ended with a whine.

"But he is _your_ beast," William chided, letting go of pretense and laughing aloud at her mistake.

"That doesn't mean he needs to wake me up every morning at the ass-crack of dawn to go pee!"

"Hmm," Tavington pursed his lips and considered her words. "The issue must be your own predicament."

"I don't need you snooping around my room-"

"Did I not tell you that I have _no_ desire to look through your personal effects?"

"Do you really think I'd believe you? You'll as good as ransack me!"

"It is one of my skills," William pondered aloud, happily tearing at her withered patience.

"Don't-"

"And what would you do?" Tavington's voice turned cold; the playful look in his face dissipated.

"Look, I just want something that is still mine," Nat answered, maintaining her moody disposition, but William could hear a resounding note of fragility in her voice.

"I have not taken anything of yours."

"No, but my room is _mine_," Nat regained a drop of resolve.

Tavington raised a brow, but decided upon a merciful route.

"I won't search _anything_." He promised, crossing his hand over his chest. "Unless you have something of interest-"

"_No_," Nat said quickly; William eyed her suspiciously. "Just more complicated stuff. Leave it _alone_."

"Let me be," Col. Tavington countered, stiffening to intimidate her with his height.

"Fine; make the bed when you get up, and don't jack in it either," she finished bitterly.

With a shrug, the colonel closed the door, locking it soundly while Nat took an extra minute to mutter her rage out with a string of bad words before she retreated to the television room.

"Great, he even took the _good_ blanket," she huffed, settling onto the couch. "Hey, you could've left me some covers!" Nat called aloud; Tavington did not answer, and Mo, who had already settled into his bed, twitched in his sleep.

Sucking in a breath, Nat grabbed a thin, tan colored blanket and curled up under it before switching off the standing lamp near the couch.

Minutes of struggling to sleep ticked by and Nat was left staring at the ceiling before her attention was wrenched over to Mo, who flatulated loudly and awoke with a start.

"Drrgghh! Mo! You're killin' me!" she hissed, covering her nose with the blanket.

Mo, still recovering from his little shock, looked at her disoriented, whining at Nat in question.

"You are _so gross_," she commented, her voice muffled as she covered her face.

The dog looked at her with droopy ears, settled back down, and was soon asleep once more, snoring loudly.

A moment of silence passed and then another; even Mo had quieted. Nat's senses heightened and she could hear every sound the apartment made. The hum of the refrigerator, the snorting from her dog while he slumbered, and the distinct creak her bedroom door made when it opened…

_Open_!

The woman sat up, listening as she heard footsteps leave her room and watched as Tavington stepped into her view, just outside the entryway to the television room. He paused just a step in front of the entryway and swept his gaze over to her, making her shrink back. The left side of the man's face was masked in shadow, leaving the other tinted paranormally white from the fluorescent street-light coming in from the kitchen window, and his eyes fairly glowed.

"I…" Nat faltered, looking away from him.

Tavington looked at her for a moment, letting her squirm under his watch. There was nothing warm about his stature. He had been unable to sleep, even if the bed had been the most comfortable article of furniture he'd occupied. Insomnia had caught up with him, even in this different world, and had left him feeling restless but alert. It was a side effect he had contended with since childhood, and it kept him awake many hours during his military service.

The house, now dark, had thrown William's memory back to the evening raids he had conducted at all manner of evening hours, hounding Colonials worse than blood-hungry dogs; even his men were pushed under his mercy.

"Clear," he murmured, releasing a shallow breath.

"Clear?" Nat squeaked, disrupting the colonel's reverie.

"The night is _clear_," William corrected.

"Yeah, and I'm _freezing_!" Nat snapped. "You could have left a decent blanket; this one's thinner than a rag."

Tavington merely shrugged and continued to hold his deadpan expression.

"Hey!" Nat raised her voice and snapped her fingers loudly at the colonel's face. "I'm _cold_!"

"Then bunk down with Mo, hm?"

"Oh thanks, _asshole_," the woman seethed. "You know, for a guest, you could afford to be a _little_ less of a bastard."

"I am," Tavington answered lightly, "Your house is intact, and that mongrel over there is still alive."

"Whatever," Nat replied, loosing her edge as fatigue fought its way into her mind, clouding her ability to reason. "I don't need your shit anyway…"

The colonel stared at her for another moment; his expression remained unreadable and he turned away, retreating back to 'his' room. Meanwhile, Nat huddled under the blanket, struggling to sleep and eventually resorted to calling Mo over. The dog was all too happy to join her and licked her face excitedly, pushing her against the back of the couch and settled in.

"Don't think this is going to be normal," Nat muttered, wiping saliva from her cheek. "God your breath stinks…"

Despite Mo's aromatic faults, the dog was asleep within minutes and Nat was close behind, blinking determinedly against slumber. A shadow appeared in the light from the window and from her peripheral field, Nat made out the vague outline of a figure standing in the door.

"Shhh," it whispered.

Nat, too keyed up from the silence and amplified sounds, huddled away with a shiver. To her relief, nothing more happened, and, assuming that whatever had been standing nearby was not going to do anything to her, she allowed herself to sleep, unaware that Tavington had slipped into the room and added an extra blanket for warmth.


	20. Chapter 20

Nat awoke the next morning nearly twenty minutes before her alarm sounded, to find Mo out of his bed and scrambling in from outside with Tavington following close behind, jeans on and shirt partially unbuttoned.

"An occasional nicety, nothing more," he dashed her assumptions of generosity.

"Well…_yeah_." Nat agreed, adopting an unassuming posture.

"It _was_ chilly last night." the colonel spoke with a shiver. "I do hope it wasn't too drafty for you."

Nat soured.

"Of course…" she replied with a smothery-sweet voice.

"Shame…"

"Whatever," Nat struggled off the couch. "I have to get ready for work."

"Then _don't _leave me with the load of tosh you attempted to pass by me yesterday." Tavington grumbled in a snarky voice.

"Well jeez, maybe it's _all I have_ for now!"

"Surely you can do better," the colonel pressed edgily. "The crows eat carrion of finer quality."

"At least it's not full of lead and other toxic metals!" Nat argued.

"That _cannot_ be _real_ meat-"

"It's byproduct," Nat cut shortly.

William frowned.

"Parts of the animal that aren't used for anything else."

"You fed me dog gruel?" Col. Tavington's voice shook with a growl.

"No, I gave you 'fast food'. Stuff I didn't have to make, but still passes as a meal." Nat excplained.

"_That_ will never pass for more than _dung_. _Ever_."

"Fine! Sandwiches then!"

Nat's loud outburst resulted in a ripple of stillness; both she and the colonel could hear their deep, starved breaths, as their chests heaved with adrenaline.

"Why-" Nat started.

"_Why_?" William scoffed. "We get into a row and the best your godforsaken _pathetic_ mind can come up with is '_why_'?"

"Yes! Why did _I_ get stuck with _you_?!" Nat hollered in a raspy voice.

Tavington was speechless as he fumbled with his rage.

"You– _stupid girl_!" he hurled back, stiffening so much that Nat thought his spine would crack. "Do you think this is _my_ ideal solution as well? I was in a _war_, at the top of my status, and now, thanks to your _witless_ whims, I am little more than a _mismatched antique_!"

"If you weren't such an _ass_, " Nat fired back but was cut short by more yelling.

"I've kept this place in _one_ piece! And yet you act as if I'm _vermin_!""

"You _are_ vermin!" Nat cried. "I may have let that homeless man do what he wanted, but that does _not_ mean I asked for _you_!"

"Because you're a bumbling idiot and let the old loon choose for himself!"

"So what?! He could have picked Hitler–"

"Hit–"

Nat motioned for silence, crossing her throat with her hand.

"Forget it! I'm going to be late."

With that, she left the colonel, still flushed with anger and readied herself for work, leaving without a backward glance.


	21. Chapter 21

"Idiot, the _sandwiches_!" Tavington hollered after Nat had closed the door. "Goddammit!"

The colonel clenched and unclenched his fists, making the veins in his hands pop. Mo, too frightened by the fighting, pawed helplessly at the man's foot, desperately needing to relieve his bladder.

"Out you go," William paused, wiser now, to the animal's requests.

Still heaving with remnant fury, the colonel tugged Mo's leash off of its hook and clipped it on the dog's collar. Eager to 'get the job done', Mo all but hauled the unsuspecting officer outside to the nearest patch of grass, disregarded proper male behavior, and squatted.

"Jesus," Tavington grumbled, jumping out of the way while the dog emptied his 'pee-tank' in a matter of seconds.

Once finished, the animal whined happily and trotted up to William, leaning affectionately against him.

"Fine; but it was _only_ a _piss_," The colonel spoke, scratching Mo reluctantly between his ears.

Mo appeared pleased, even with the subtle downturn-comment, and barked his approval.

"Hush it! Back inside."

Quickly, Tavington unleashed Mo and ordered him into the television room while he searched for sandwich fixings. Nat may have had every thing foreign and unfamiliar that William could imagine, but sandwiches were at least in his 'era' of food items.

Back-tracking to the refrigerator, he paused, trying to remember if the fresh food was on the upper or lower half of this strange, food-storage unit.

"Heat rises," William murmured, pulling the top door open. "Now…_this_," he painted a disgraced expression on his face; there was no other remnant of bread, save for the questionable, white, 'bendy', substance with the label _Wonder_ emblazoned on its package.

A shelf above the bread were the sandwich fixings. Peanut butter, organic honey, Welch's grape jelly, and in a drawer hanging between the shelves that contained two blocks of yellow cheese.

Tavington, ever one to enjoy his time out on the town, was never keen on culinary gluttony, and took conscious measures to keep his body limber and fit (even if the means were 'unconventional'). However, his restraint on a healthy sweet-tooth was beginning to wear, and he eyed the bottle of jelly with a particularly long glance. He was not familiar with something so sweet being used in sandwich making. Preserves were used in other things, like desserts and other edible delicacies. But then, what to put with it?

Sweeping over to the peanut butter and honey, William let out a quiet exhale and grabbed the former container from the shelf, hoping it had a set of directions to tell him how it might be put to use.

"Ah, peanut butter and _jelly_," Tavington said quizzically before he unscrewed the lid. "Christ in Heaven!"

William shrank back and dropped the container. It thudded to the floor but did not shatter or spill.

"They put _feces_ in jars?!" his voice rose just below a yell.

There was a troubled yelp and Mo peeked from around the corner, upset by the noise.

"It's just food," Tavington looked over at the dog and motioned for him to settle. "_Hideous_ food."

Mo jerked his head in confusion and William turned his attention backed to the peanut butter with a grimace.

"Ugh," he winced, stooping down to pick up the container. "What in the _world_…?"

Tavington allowed himself a brief, _closer_ inspection of the food item and was surprised to find that it smelled _nothing _like fecal matter. Instead, it carried a slightly sweet, nutty odor, and was creamy and thick to touch.

"Hmm," he contemplated, sampling a drop on his index finger. "It might work."

Turning the peanut butter back over for a better note of the instructions, Col. Tavington set about making a sandwich, pleased to find that the utensils were much the same. However, he _did_ find issue with the suggested serving size; it dictated that eh cut the sandwich in half and leave it.

"Maddening; are they starving urchins?" William scorned.

It simply would not do, and Tavington sliced the sandwich into neat _quarters_ before rummaging through the cupboards in search of a platter. Tucked behind the everyday flatware, something blue and glassy caught his eye.

Squinting to catch a better view, William carefully moved a stack of plain white plates to find a stack of two porcelain platters bearing the looks of familiar English china.

"I wonder…" Slowly, the colonel turned the plate over and read the name of the design. "Blue Willow…hmmm… Mother had china similar to these."

They had been Missus Tavington's prized pieces, and William still bore a clear memory of one hefty scolding he'd received as boy for shattering one of her cups. It still surprised him that such wrath could come from someone so gentle and mild.

"_Enough_," He shook away and put the china back on the shelf. "No need to make the bread soggy."


	22. Chapter 22

Tavington chanced a bite from the sandwich and was surprised and pleased at what he tasted. The bread was almost too sweet, but its texture was tolerable if not light. The peanut butter, though also sweet, balanced the grape jelly preserve perfectly; otherwise, William was sure the sugar would have taken him badly.

With a content swallow, he reached for a cloth to dab his mouth, remembering the 'napkins' and retrieved one from the table.

"This is strange," Tavington thought aloud, opening the paper-cloth up and holding it level to his eyes. "Patterned as a quilt, yet it's…_paper_." He noted. "Produced en massé, no doubt; such sentiment," William's lips curled. "But what is the material? Not animal hide."

Taking the napkin in both hands, Col. Tavington tore it into several pieces.

"It isn't leaf based; there are no veins. Cheap linen, then?"

But even with further examination, he could draw no solid conclusions.

"There must be some consistency." Tavington pressed. "The present cannot be so vastly foreign from its past."

In terrible need of something familiar and untroubling, Tavington went back to Nat's commandeered room to retrieve his waistcoat and breeches. The least he could do while he was 'away' would be to keep his uniform in a presentable state.

The colonel went to the bathroom, carrying his uniform pieces, and pulled a small towel from the towel-rack; he wasn't in the mood for rooting around and finding more overwhelming nuances. Carefully, he wetted the cloth and then returned to the bedroom where he laid the waistcoat and breeches out on the bed, where he meticulously pressed out any creases he could see.

Soon after Col. Tavington had finishsed his work, he straightened up, still partially kneeling over the bed, and looked around, squinting, and cursed.

"I'll be damned; she'd better have a line."

William could have very well left the uniform to hang from the doorway, but the morning was turning a decent color and he still favored outdoor airing. Pursing his lips into a white line, Tavington got up and rifled through Nat's drawers. The top left compartment had nothing of use, but the top right contained a long, red bungee cord. Initially, he deemed it too flimsy, but a couple hard tugs changed his opinion; if William could pull it taut enough, it might hold.

Settled on his decision, Col. Tavington took the bungee cord outside to the front and stretched it firmly between two entry posts near Nat's front door. After a qiuck test of the cord, he retrieved his things and slowly hung them up, starting with the breeches. When the cord held, he added the waistcoat before standing back to appraise his work.

"Fifteen minutes then, before things become balmy."

With a glance around, William went back inside, unaware that someone had seen the bright red officer's coat.


	23. Chapter 23

No sooner had he stepped inside was William greeted by Mo, who wore a strained expression on his face, whining desperately.

"You're not starving. What is it that you want?" Tavington looked down at the dog while pulling at his shirt; though it was relatively comfortable, he also felt the clothing was tight and almost restricting.

"All right; out then?" he asked Mo.

The dog heaved himself to the door, but before he could begin to scratch, Tavington abruptly opened it and Mo nearly fell outside.

"Bloody clot," he muttered as Mo leapt eagerly into the yard, took two steps forward and squatted with a loud groan.

"That bad, hm?" William asked sympathetically. "Try four hours in a saddle, during the buggering winter. I'll never forget it; it was so cold that I couldn't even piss right when I _did_ get the chance." The soldier laughed an empty laugh. "Of course, with Martin's men trailing us and leading us on-"

Col. Tavington stopped cold. A rustle in the bushes had caught his attention. Sharp eyes bore into the spot where the noise had come from. Once again, there was a motion in the hedges, and a soft, clicking sound made his muscles harden and coil down.

"Show yourself," he ordered sharply.

The response was fearful stillness.

"I said _show yourself_! _Now_!" Tavington yelled, raising his voice to a forté with his final word. "I give you warning, I _will_ face you unarmed…"

There was a mumbling of unintelligible words and a man, Tavington guessed to be around his own age, stood to face him.

"You've been watching me," he addressed the man with a thin, steely voice.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" the panic-stricken man managed to blurt out, his dark eyes bulging with terror.

"_I_ ask the questions," Col. Tavington reached for the man's arm, locking him into a snake-like hold.

The man tried to scream but William covered his mouth with a suffocating grip. "I ask that you not scream. It bores me, and, if you do, this may end…_inconveniently_."

Still struggling, Tavington's 'charge' attempted to step on the officer's foot, but the colonel was far too used to such antics from unruly soldiers, and quickly hauled the 'spy' back inside with Mo trailing reluctantly behind, ears down and tail tucked halfway between his legs.

"Are you crazy?! Who are you?! What the fuck-"

William forced him over to the television room, and threw him roughly onto one of the couches, where he landed face-first into the back cushions.

"You were watching me; _why_?" Tavington went straight to inquiry.

"Holy shit, man! It's just a _neighborly_ thing! Check on your fellow man-?"

"How long did you watch?" William loomed over the man who was too terrified to fight.

"I don't know! Maybe a minute-"

The soldier's eyes narrowed and the light caught the iris of his right eye, making it appear nearly white.

"That is a _lie_."

"No!"

"How long were you watching me?" Col. Tavington enunciated.

"I just saw you hang your coat outside beforehand." The man tried. "Nat never has guests. Or at least, none that stay for very long."

William growled threateningly, dearly wishing that he had pocketed one of his knives that morning.

"It was the coat," his captive cried, pleading in a pitiful voice. "And you… you're not from around here."

"Of course I'm not!" the colonel scoffed. "And good riddance to you _scum_."

The man looked up at him with mingled wariness and questioning.

"But _where_ are you from?"

"England," William replied tersely.

"But," the prisoner continued to take him in, from his long dark hair, to his untimely dialect and finally, his red waistcoat.

William too, was quickly unraveling the stranger's private revelations.

"That is enough. Go home." He pulled the man up and pushed him to the back door. "I highly doubt anyone will believe your drunken tale, even if you were to tell it so convincingly."

"You're a crazy fucker anyway," the charge managed to counter.

"You haven't the slightest idea…" Tavington's lips curled and his expression turned serpentine. "Be off, or I shall find you in less favorable circumstances."


	24. Chapter 24

Closing the back door behind the intruder, Tavington looked down to see Mo plodding toward him.

"Out?" he sighed and turned toward the door to let the dog out into the backyard.

Mo bounded jovially out the door and set about, sniffing the grass at a pace too painfully slow for Tavington not to fidget.

"Get on with it, will you?!" he demanded in a hoarse voice.

Mo lookedup momentarily from his investigation of a stray dandelion, his left ear raised to give the colonel his attention.

"If you're not going to piss, _get back here_!" Tavington strained, jerking his hand angrily at the canine, who shrank back and lifted his eyes to meet his temporary master.

"Yes, _get back inside_," Said William bossily.

The tension diffused, Tavington heaved a vexed exhale while Mo, still upset, nuzzled the side of his leg, shaking anxiously.

"Bloody-" William faded into a stony, brooding mask; there was no way he could effectively word how he viewed the breach of his privacy by this oddly-behaved person.

"My jacket," he stepped back outside, eyes moving with fleet-speed, surveying the yard and the surrounding area before he pulled the jacket from the line and walked back into the apartment.

Calling Mo to his side, Tavington gave the dog a disinterested scratch before he turned to study his uniform waistcoat.

"It doesn't belong _here_," he uttered the obvious finding. "I _cannot_ be _found_."

Nearly forty minutes later, Col. Tavington sat stock still in the television room with Mo resting at his feet, casting an eye up at him on occasion to see if he'd done anything other than breathe. Events from earlier that morning did not leave him at ease. William was an _officer_, a _commander_. _He_ told others what to do. Now it was as if the roles were tipping almost dangerously out of his favor. Ever one to return fire and meet a challenge with vengeance, he second-guessed his decision to release the spying neighbor. Yet, the man had been _unarmed_.

"No, I was right. The legal allowances here…"

Tavington was sure that issues of what was law abiding and what was not must have changed since his time. After all, women could work and earn pay and keep their own residence. The best thing, he decided, was to wait until Nat arrived home until he pressed matters any further.

Two more minutes of blank staring crept by before William stood up to grab a book from one of the shelves near the television. Mo followed, excited by the sudden change of motion, but a loud knock from the front door halted them both.

Having been given blunt orders from Nat ("Don't answer the door. _At all_, unless you want to get _fucked every whichway to fucking kingdom come_!") the colonel grabbed a book just as Mo bounded off, barking a premature greeting at the potential guest.

"Mo!" Tavington choked, dropping the book to ambush the dog, running half way down the hall until he lost his tread and slid across the hard floor, knocking heavily into Mo's side before he landed on his back.

Startled and momentarily hurt, the dog let out a pitiful yelp and scurried out of the way.

"Blasted _idiot_!" William snarled, wincing as he grabbed hold of the dog's collar and made to right his prone figure.

"Is everything all right in there?" a voice called from outside.

William fell to a dead silence and moved Mo with him, away from the windows, while a man with a past-season build, dressed in a dark uniform, peered inside. He waved a light around before drawing it back to scribble some notes on a paper, mumbling unintelligibly to himself. Finally satisfied, or accepting of his findings, the officer retreated and Tavington relaxed, dropping his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. Mo left his side to go sniff at the front door, making sure all odors came from friendly parties.

"That's it," Tavington announced in a constricted voice. "You will _not_ go blithering about like a stupid-happy, punch-drunk fool! That alarm bell _must go_!"


	25. Chapter 25

Nat arrived home, half an hour early from work; one of the registers had shut down just two hours before she had to leave and because the place was low on clientele at the time, her manager didn't see any use in keeping her there for nothing.

Slogging up to the front door, the woman's eyes narrowed as she spotted the note shoved in between her door and the doorjamb.

"Huh," she pocketed the notice and stuck her key in the door, joggling the knob a couple of times before stepping inside to Mo's loud, welcoming bark.

"Hey you," she knelt down to give the dog some well-deserved pampering. "He didn't take your head, huh?"

Distantly, she heard the buzzing sound of a television and stood up, clenching her hands.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nat asked marching into the television room to find Col. Tavington stretched out on one of the couches, watching SpongeBob Square pants with a terribly upset expression on his face.

"Hey!" the woman snapped her fingers and Tavington shook himself aware, his face smug once more.

"I told you _not_ to _touch that_!" Nat grated.

"Well it was rather easy to figure out." He replied casually. "At least part of it; the mechanics-"

"I don't fucking care!" Nat shouted. "How long were you watching?!" she demanded.

"Temper _temper_," Tavington replied, stretching the thread of her patience. "Fifteen minutes at best."

"Did you change the channel?!"

"I did not."

Nat sagged with relief.

"I am comfortable to turn the thing on and off. I would have worked further, but you came home… _early_."

"Yeah; give me _that_." Nat snatched the remote out of his hand and turned the television off. "You're lucky it landed on SpongeBob." She said, plopping down next to him while Mo entered the room to scurry over and rest his head on her leg.

"Sponge-bob? That is what you call this?"

"Not the television, but the show, yes?"

"The show? But where is it?"

"In the screen, recorded."

Tavington frowned.

"It's not real-"

"_It's not real_."

"It's an illusion, then?"

"Kind of; we'll go with that."

"Not magic-"

"-Not magic," Nat repeated.

"Well it's ridiculous and illogical," the colonel replied. "You cannot dwell in a pineapple whilst living in the ocean. And a _squirrel_ of all creatures? _Rubbish_!"

"It's fictitious." Nat tried. "Like your comedies with animals and men."

"Those have lessons," William answered. "This has a _talking sponge_ who happens to be an obnoxious, blundering fool whom I am supposed to find 'funny'.

"Well I like him," Nat defended. "He's funny to me."

Tavington gaped.

"It's like slapstick humor, with a bit of satire. The stupid happy guy and his grumpy, irritating neighbor. Make more sense?"

The colonel rested his head on his chin.

"If I strip it of all stupidity, perhaps. But that _squirrel_…"

"Forget the squirrel," Nat interrupted. "What about Gary?"

"Gary?" Tavington repeated. "The snail?"

"Yes, Gary the snail."

"He's _useless_." Concluded William. "Can't even talk, and he's so… _odd _looking. His proportions are overly emphatic. Monstrously so."

"That's part of the act," Nat explained. "Goofy, make fun of it; _jest_."

"I don't' see the point."

"Fine, _fine_," Nat let up. "But can you tell me about this?" she pulled out the note the officer had left behind.

"Suspicious activity," Tavington read, taking the paper from her.

"Did you do your wacko-jacko soldier thing?" she asked.

"Wacko?-"

"Did you pull your gun on someone or do something else?"

The colonel replied with a harsh laugh.

"Did _I_ do something? I was defending myself against your cretin of a neighbor-"

"So you _did_ pull your gun on him?" Nat started to become perplexed.

"No, he spied on me, and I saw fit to diffuse the issue before it became a threat." William answered with crafted deliberateness.

"Why was he spying on you?" Nat chose to save the more prodding questions for later.

"My coat," the colonel replied. "I hung it out after pressing it and he found it of interest."

"Oh," Nat started. "You didn't say it was a costume."

"He's not quite that dull, I'm afraid-"

"Well what did you do? Scare him?"

"Something of the like, yes."

Nat rolled her eyes, spotting the officer's saber in the corner of her vision.

"Did you use that?"

"I did not; he only saw _me."_

"Great," Nat threw up her hands. "Threaten someone and watch TV! We are _fucked_."


	26. Chapter 26

"I see no harm in watching this silly television." William snorted disagreeably. "As for the threat, who will believe him?"

"No one because we're getting rid of your stuff-"

"Absolutely not!" The officer stood up with such abruptness, Nat was forced to dodge out of his way.

"All right," she held up her hands, "but we put them away. And _that_ too!" Nat pointed at Tavington's saber as he eyed it defensively.

"You will not leave me with _nothing_." He growled.

"Look, I can't chance anything," Nat began, trying to maintain a calm attitude. "The jacket can pass for costume, but the saber? That is no fake."

"So hang it and call it an antique." Tavington answered.

"No," Nat replied stoutly, "it wouldn't look right, especially with _you_."

"Me?"

"Yes! Look at you! Just cut-"

"No." Col. Tavington said in a curt voice.

"Then tie it back and keep wearing the jeans and shirts. At least with those, you'll pass for satisfactory.

"Satisfactory?" Tavington burned. "And you are…? Why, if I was to give you but a cursory glance, you'd look like a boy, barely past his seventeenth year."

"Um, I'm endowed enough." Nat answered, embarrassed.

"Without stays?" William continued, backing. Her further into a corner in the argument. "No one would notice, and it would be your _hair_ they would see first."

Nat exhaled; t wasn't a pixie, but something like a really short bones hairstyle.

"And your mouth," Tavington kept on, unaffected, "_Not_ ladylike."

"Fine," Nat plucked up the nerve to talk back, "so I don't look right, yeah? Well here's the thing: I live here. You…don't…anymore," she finished with a blush. "You didn't ask for this and I didn't expect anything to happen."

Tavington rolled his eyes.

"_But_," the woman hastened to keep his attention, "because you're here, for now, we have to keep things hushed up."

"I'm not going to slave for you." William began to argue.

"No, nono," Nat stopped him. "We'll work things out. I'll show you around. But you must listen to me. I know how this works, but if I show you something I shouldn't, it could make really shitty things happen for _everyone_."

"Oh, what a novel revelation," Tavington scoffed. "thank you for such enlightening news."

"Please?" Nat cut in, thinking quickly, "I am asking if we have an accord."

"You have nothing upon which to make this claim." Col. Tavington argued with delighted superiority.

"Fuck," Nat looked away, chewing her lip.

Tavington's smugness grew and he stood back, leering at his hostess.

"I decline the offer," he announced.

"Wait! Your sword," Nat choked out. "I will allow you your sword!"

"My sword…" the colonel was unimpressed. "You are offering me my own blade?" He asked disdainfully.

Nat sagged.

"What do you want?" She mumbled.

"Some clothing that is _comfortable_." He replied emphatically. "A genuinely good, well prepared meal, and, maybe the occasional doxie." He finished with a purr.

"No doxie." Nat turned bright red. "It's illegal now."

William deadpanned.

"Illegal?"

"Yeah, too much sex trafficking and shit," Nat answered offhandedly, still recovering from his blunt request.

"Christ, what kind of hell is this?" Tavington looked at s loss for a further explanation.

"I can get you the other stuff," the woman offered.

"And the saber." William added.

"Okay, but it must be mounted."

"Yes yes," the colonel replied, still occupied by his own thoughts." How am I going to get anything of a romp if there aren't even whores around for the job?"


	27. Chapter 27

Having arrived at a moody air of silence, Nat took the opportunity to scoot away from the officer, and began chewing at her nails, looking hastily at William and then back at herself, almost ignoring Mo, who had sidled up to her with a longing look in his eyes.

"God you're _disgusting_," Tavington snapped, ending the heavy emptiness between them.

Nat looked up at his mouth, curled in distain, nostrils flared to match.

"_What_?" she garbled, still chewing her idex fingernail to the quick.

"_That_ is-" Col. Tavington grabbed her finger away from her mouth and glared at her with a look of loathing.

"So?" Nat pulled her hand away.

"It's _bleeding_," He continued to admonish her.

"So what? It'll stop in a second."

"There's hardly even a nail left!" Tavington announced dramatically.

Nat's ears colored.

"Shut up…"

"Oh yes! I _will_! Because that is what you would have me do!" Col. Tavington started to raise his voice.

"Nat balked, momentarily stunned.

"The hell was that? I thought we just went over this." She sputtered.

Tavington looked spitefully at her.

"I am an officer. I _lead_," he countered with a clear, but pronounced hiss.

"You can't lead here!" nat cried, spreading her arms. "This…_now_, is nothing like your _then_!"

"Is that so," Tavington leaned in close to her. "Everything has changed?"

"Pretty much; you wouldn't last twenty minutes outside on your own-"

"Not with the way you're introducing me to this place," William cut in.

"You just told me that you _lead_!" Nat argued; Mo whined and pawed at her pantleg.

"Yes, and I would here, but you seem nothing short of happy with keeping me _contained_," the colonel replied.

"You don't _listen_!"

"You're hopelessly ill-tempered," Tavington huffed.

"Said _you_!" Nat exclaimed.

"But I _know_ it," William answered. "You? You act as if I'm some sort of _heathen_. Never mind any inquiries I might have," he argued.

Nat gaped.

"I turn on the television and you pitch a fit. I go outside and I'm _accosted_. I get dressed and even _that_ is unacceptable!" Tavington's patience had cut to its finest thread.

"I can't help that," Nat answered, feeling more bewildered and useless as the debate progressed.

"Then you get me back _home_!" William bit back.

"I don't know where the man is!"

"Of course," Tavington drawled scathingly.

Nat looked down and away, thoroughly overwhelmed.

"I will _leave_ if you fail to come up with some sort of temporary relief from this _sedentary_ _existence_."

As out of place as he was, the woman knew better than to take the officer's threat for idle words.

"I don't know," she mumbled. "If I don't limit things, everything could go wrong…"

The colonel groaned in boiling impatience, and Nat grew desperate.

"Do you cook?"

The officer's temper dissolved, and he became quiet, studying her with a curious expression.

"I guess I could teach you a couple of dishes. Then, you wouldn't have to eat all of the boxed processed shit that I have in the fridge." She added hopefully.

"That was the servants' responsibility," Col. Tavington spoke uncertainly.

"Right… well don't let me fool you; I'm not a French chef. But, some easy dishes aren't too much to ask for."

"I will _not_ hover over bread like a pauper." He sniffed.

"Fine…pasta?"

"Pasta?" Tavington asked, confused.

"Noodles… um," Nat was at a loss for words. "It's a popular dish here."

"Pasta…" Tavington echoed. "Just noodles?"

"It depends on how you prepare it," Nat began to brighten. "Pasta's nothing if you don't add good sauce or seasoning, or mix it with other types of food."

"Hmm," Tavington started to relax. "Perhaps we could try this…_pasta_ dish. But it had better not have that abhorrent cheese from that boxed lunch meal."


	28. Chapter 28

For once, Nat returned his answer with a genuine grin, more than glad to be past the rough patch, even if it could only be temporarily.

"All right, first, wash your hands," she instructed, gesturing to the kitchen sink. "Soap is right there, in the bottle with the funky…_squirt_ lid."

Nat made a face, displeased at how badly she'd described the soap dispenser.

Tavington nodded, and started for the soap; he'd already seen a familiar bottle in the bathroom and had no trouble washing up at the kitchen sink. His hostess followed suit, and then gestured to one of the lower cupboards, two doors to the left of the sink.

"Pots are there; get a big one." Nat instructed.

The colonel listened and stooped before the cupboard door, opening it to a thunderous crash.

"God-!"

Nat blushed.

"It's a little crowded…"

"Did you ever consider putting the pots in a _designated, orderly_ space?" William snarked, ever one to avoid messiness.

"I would if I had the _time_," Nat gritted back.

"Later then," Col. Tavington grumbled picking through the disarrayed cookery to find large, copper-bottomed pot.

Nat grunted in response and took the pot, filling it two-thirds full with water.

"Okay, salt is in the cabinet back there," she pointed behind her to one of the upper cupboards.

Tavington closed the cookery cupboard and went to get the salt, hesitating momentarily when he spotted a pack of condoms in the front corner; he had seen them once before but had neglected them completely shortly after."

"What is this?"

"Hmm?" Nat answered, occupied by the stove as she turned the knob to start the flame on the front left burner.

"What is _this_?" William repeated, holding up the condom packet.

"What is- _oh_…" The woman swallowed and snatched the packet from his hand, hastily stuffing it in the back of the cupboard; the colonel's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"_Well_," he demanded.

"It's a _condom_," Nat replied flatly. "Contraception."

"Condom," William echoed; such things did exist to _his_ knowledge, but they were nothing like the thing he saw in the packet.

"Well _what_ is it? It's not sheepskin…."

"No, it's rubber, _latex_." Nat explained, regaining herself from the momentary embarrassment. "But the same rules apply… except, you _throw it away_ after one use." She finished emphatically.

"All right," Tavington held up his hands, attempting to deflect an argument.

Nat inhaled and allowed herself to deflate, remembering that she had parlayed with the officer, and heated words would not help.

"Okay, um, get the salt; there's a small shaker of it on the table. We won't need very much."

William clenched his jaw and listened, moving around the counter to the table, accidently catching Mo in the chest with his foot; the dog let out a yelp and Tavington looked down in irritation.

"Well it was _you_ who wasn't looking," Nat warned.

Tavington took a breath and looked down at Mo, who was skulking away under the table.

"Still _just_ a _dog_." He murmured before returning to Nat's side.

"All right, watch the water in the pot and let me know when it starts to boil." The woman continued. "When it does, we can add salt."

Tavington nodded and stared moodily at the water. Steam began to rise but there was no boil.

"This is _interminable_," he gritted.

"It's going to take _time_. Besides, if you rush it, it won't turn out right. Wait another minute and then it'll start boiling."

Tavington sighed and Nat rolled her eyes.

"Have you _never_ cooked a meal before?" she blurted.

"Of course I have."_ The _colonel huffed. "When I needed to; otherwise the staff prepared meals. But, a soldier does what must be done out of necessity."

"Right," Nat bit her lip. "But I'm not just going to serve all your meals for you. You're a _guest_, not a _leech_."

Col. Tavington's lips curled.

"I gathered as much."

"Good, _watch the water_." Nat ordered.

"Very well."

* * *

A minute later, bubbles began to rise to the surface.

"Here's the salt; give it a couple of taps into the water. Add only a little just to make sure the noodles don't stick and get all starchy."

Nat offered William the salt; instead of simply taking the shaker, Tavington covered her hand with his and tipped the shaker doward, with two quick taps. The woman looked over at him, blushing, but he maintained an indifferent countenance.

"I didn't want to overpour the amount."

"Sure," she retorted. "Is that one of your lines?"

"Lines?" Tavington answered with a laugh. "I can do far _better_ than _that_."

"Oh," Nat echoed, taking a bundle of thin spaghetti noodles from a box and instructing the colonel to lay them in the water, half exposed. "You guys think it's so easy…"

"Perhaps because it _is_," William's voice whispered close to her hear; she could almost feel his mouth brush near her neck and she jumped when she his breath touched her skin.

"Goddmamit! Stop that!"

The colonel backed away, relishing her discomfort.

"No harm done…" he chided innocently.

"Yeah, whatever, _pervert_. Watch the noodles; it'll be about seven minutes before they're ready. I"ll heat the sauce."

Within minutes, the kitchen smelled of steam, and heated marinara. Tavington actually paused to take in the smell of hot food that, for once, was _not_ gruel.

"Almost ready," Nat pulled him back, setting a bottle of parmesean cheese on the table; William gave her an odd look.

"It's cheese; you put it over the noodles and sauce."

Tavington looked unconvinced.

"You don't _have_ to."

"I won't."

"Your loss," Nat shrugged. "Sauce is done, give the noodles another minute and they should be ready."

The colonel grunted and turned his attention back to the pasta.

"Mmm… This is gonna be _good_!" Nat sniffed deeply, leaning over the pot of hot marinara.

"Are we quite _ready_?" Tavington asked, his stomach churning.

"Just a second; I _have_ to appreciate good work."

"Like the _French_," William scoffed.

"But they have good food. So… what do you have? Dried, unchewable meat?"

"It's livable," Tavington reddened.

"But _this_," Nat spoke dramatically, "_This_ is more than livable. _This _is food _paradise_!"

"And when do I get a bite of this _paradise_?" Tavington asked thinly.

"Uh... _now_."

Grabbing a plate off the counter, Nat served the colonel a generous portion of the spaghetti and his eyes widened.

"That's just for _me_?"

"Yeah…" The woman looked at him quizzically.

"Do I look like a corpulent pig?" he chastised. "This could keep several men fed for a meal."

Nat sighed.

"Hey, that's serving size here, yeah? Just eat it; we'll do something about the leftovers-"

"Leftovers? You eat it again?" Tavington was aghast. "After it's been…_chewed on_?"

"Something like that.."

"That is worse than street scum," William sniffed.

"It's not like they're drowning in spit and ick," Nat replied defensively. "We put it back in the fridge, because nowadays, we can keep food cold so that it stays fresh for a longer period of time. But go one, _eat_." Nat was not interested in beginning another lengthy discussion about how 'now' functioned as opposed to 'then'.

"How much sauce?"

"As much as you'd like. Use the ladel."

Still unsure, the colonel scooped up half a ladel of sauce and poured it straight on top of the noodle heap.

"What you're not going to spread it around?" Nat asked. "You want to actually _taste_ it."

Without waiting for his permission, she took the colonel's fork and stirred the noodles and sauce until they bled in to one another.

"I can very well feed myself," Tavington said in an icy tone, taking the fork from her.

"Whatever," Nat brushed him off. "Take a bite."

Settling at the table, William edged Mo aside, staring pensively at his plate, his fork held stationary in his hand.

"Twist the noodles with the fork, and use the knife as a guide." Nat instructed. "Otherwise, they'll just fall off."

Heeding her advice, Tavington stuck his fork in the middle of the heap and turned it, watching the spaghetti gather and twist around the utensil. With the knife, he made sure to have just enough spaghetti on the fork without making the serving too large, and slowly took his first bite.

The sauce wasn't sweet but tasty all the same.

"It doesn't quite taste like tomato," he said after he'd finished the first bite. "It's…_runny_," Tavington grimaced as a droplet of the sauce dripped down the corner of his mouth; quickly, he dabbed it away.

"There's other stuff in the sauce, and different tomatoes are used for cooking." Nat replied, settling down across from him. "How are the noodles."

"Slimy…" Tavington frowned. "They haven't any taste.." he finished with a hiss when some of the sauce splattered onto his shirt. "Bloody usless if I can't even _eat_ it."

"Don't put so much on your fork . And, that's what the sauce is for. You _add_ the taste you want." She finished, slurping up a single noodle while the colonel gawked at her. "."

"Oh come on, everyone has to slurp a noodle _once_."

"It's childish," the colonel answered stiffly. "I will not."

"It won't kill you. And no one else is here."

"It's _repulsive_." Tavington picked at his food, taking another bite. "I will eat mine as I will."

Nat slurped another noodle and he glared when some of the sauce splattered on her chin.

"But it's good, right?" she asked, turning serious. "The food?"

William let the question hang as he reached for the parmesean, drizziling it lightly over his plate before taking another bite.

"It's bitter," he commented. "But it blends well with the sauce, and mellows out the more the two mix."

"So it's good?"

William eyed Nat quietly before acknowledging her , turning the corner of his mouth upward.

"It is _decent_."


	29. Chapter 29

"Decent?" Nat echoed. "What, your camp gruel is better?"

Tavington shrugged indifferently, hiding a simper behind a well-timed bite of food.

"It is _filling_."

"Sure…"

The two continued to eat silently, the colonel picking at his food in an almost obsessive manner, while Nat studied his movements with lacking subtlety. He refused to leave a single bit of pasta hanging from his fork, and chewed purposefully, evenly between each side of his mouth. Were it not for his silence, she wouldn't have tolerated William's unease. The man didn't even spare time to relax for a meal!

"Don't _even_…" William growled, stiffening as Mo, who had come to pad up behind his chair, shrank back into a sulky sit.

Nat raised an eyebrow.

"How'd you know he was there?"

"You don't _hear_ him?" William asked between a bite of food and sip of wine.

"No…"

"_Of course_," the corners of his mouth twitched upward in disapproval.

"Maybe he was just being _sneaky_ because it's _you_ he's dealing with…"

Tavington chortled.

"So he sees no reason to bother with you, then?"

"I-" Nat gaped, "I…"

Col. Tavington shrugged and returned to his food while the woman watched with ever-mounting chagrin.

"Is _everything_ win or bust with you?" she blabbed, spraying a stray noodle just inches from his plate; William chanced a brief but pointed glare.

"I'm sorry?" he intoned lightly.

"You just _have_ to be right… even your _chewing_ is perfect!" she accused.

"Is it wrong, then?" he asked.

"Yes––"

"The manner in which I choose to eat is offensive?"

"Yes but that wasn't just it," Nat cried desperately.

Tavington sighed and put down his fork and knife, tilting his head to one side as he looked back at her.

"I don't understand; what have I done to upset you…_this_ time?"

"You _always_ have to have the last word." Nat said with a breath.

"Always?" William echoed, mindlessly turning his pasta with his fork.

"See? _Right there_!" Nat pointed out. "It's always _your_ say. _Your_ idea."

"I wouldn't have to have the _last word_ if you weren't so bloody _stubborn_." Tavington turned his attention back to his food and readied another bite.

"If I wasn't then you'd push me right over." Nat argued, slapping the table with her hand for emphasis.

"Is that _really_ my personal concern?" The colonel asked, chiding her with subtle firmness.

"It _should_ be." Nat huffed.

William chuckled darkly.

"Oh, my dear…I do _love_ a good fight." His lips curled with sinister mockery.

"But this _isn't_ a _war_!" Nat answered in exasperation.

"No?... Well of course_ not_. You'd be a poor slouch of a soldier." The colonel chastised. "But _do_ step up the antics, will you? Do _something_…"

"Do what?" Nat hissed. "I fed you, I clothed you, I showed you the bathroom… what else?"

"I'm not a fool, Nat. I enjoy a round of verbal roulette, certainly, but dear god, _challenge_ me. You don't want me to grow bored of you."

"I'm not a fucking whore whom you can just _tire_ of!" Nat raised her voice sharply.

"You're _not_?" William asked, an amused glint creeping into his eyes. "Prove it then; _stop_ boring me with senseless arguing and have a _genuine_ conversation. Then, perhaps, we might discuss your _new_ station."


	30. Chapter 30

"A _genuine_ conversation," Nat started, "And _how_ would it begin?"

"Where are your kin?" William answered with a blunt request. "Who is in charge of your finances? Where are the _men_ in your family?"

"I told _you_," Nat reddened, "I take care of _myself_."

"Without family?" William pressed; the officer's tone was starkly light in comparison with the demand he held in his stiff figure and unyielding gaze. "You may think that being on your own is something of a norm, but with _me_, it is _not_."

The woman quieted, trying to think of a reasonable rebuttal while Tavington continued, "You're far too old for any suitable marriage, and yet you are utterly _unconcerned_ for your status as an old maid. You keep that _verminous_ thing for companionship," he jabbed a finger at Mo, who drooped his ears and slunk under the table.

"He's better than any of the guys I've met!" Nat shot back, hugging herself in defense. "At least he isn't an asshole on purpose, and the worst thing he does is piss on the floor!"

"At least?" William raised his voice to match hers. "That is _pitiful_ at best."

"That's right, because _everything_ is _shit to you_!" Nat hollered. "You, know, just _go_. Get _out_. I don't need your shit, and as far as I'm concerned, you'll get killed out there before you cause any trouble."

Col. Tavington fell silent immediately and stared.

"Yeah, _get out_!" Nat heaved, her face bright with anger.

"Very well, _milady_," Tavington's lips curled and he stood up, leaving the table without a backward glance to gather his things.

Nat stayed at the table, frozen in rage, and didn't look up until Tavington emerged from her room with his things in one of her large duffle bags.

"That's _mine_," she said moodily.

"Did you expect me to carry my saber in plain view?"

"You have a scabbard."

Tavington snorted.

"I don't think you'll miss the bag; I'm _leaving_."

"Of course I won't." Nat replied shortly."

"Very well," Tavington nodded, looking her up and down, briefly moving to rest his gaze on Mo before he turned and walked toward the door, opened it roughly, and left without a backward glance.

_**A/N: I know this is a short chapter, and a really mean place to cut off. However, I feel like the next part will need to be done separately, due to the twist of events. Thanks!**_


	31. Chapter 31

"Fucking…" Nat found her voice minutes after Tavington left, stooping to rub Mo behind his ears when he gave her an anxious nudge.

"Where's he going to go anyway?" she wondered aloud. "He's can't just walk in wherever he wants and pitch camp."

Nat shook her head.

"You know, Mo, it's not _my problem_. _He _walked out; if he gets his ass grassed, _fine_. Bastard could use it anyway. At least I get my bed back. She let out a sigh of relief.

Stepping toward her room, Nat decided to search it out in the event that her 'guest' had left something behind.

"Neater than a sanitized pin." She sniffed, opening the door while Mo followed close behind at her heel.

Her bed was made, sheets completely symmetrical, the floor, spotless and clean; everything was in its place, until she glanced at her closet.

Nat frowned, noticing that her closet doors were wide open. Her dresser drawers appeared untouched, but when she turned to leave, the woman saw that her bottom drawer had been pulled open.

"No, I left it that way," she shook her head, but something about the manner of cleanliness and the way the drawer poked out, was teasing her.

Biting her lip, Nat sidled over to the drawer for a closer examination. Everything was in its place and position except for a white mail-envelope that poked up from the left side of the drawer, next to her jeans. With a grimace, Nat picked up the envelope and opened it, a sour expression crossing her features.

"Oh you're _good_…" she seethed. "Clean me out before you _leave_––" Nat clenched her fists. And you're unidentifiable––_Perfect_!"


	32. Chapter 32

An hour after leaving, Tavington had managed to travel a mile away from the apartment, to a local coffee shop. The cars had made him anxious; especially when crossing streets. It was as if he had to ask to cross to avoid a collision, and that process in itself, was nothing short of puzzling.

Spotting the café, William warily made his way inside, eyes darting about in overstimulation as he settled into the corner of the venue at an empty table, sighing in frustration. A pint would have been most gratefully accepted, but he had no alcohol on him to speak of. In his fit of ire and anxiousness, Tavington had all but neglected his hunger and grimaced when his stomach pitched painfully, growling in protest.

"The hell is this?" he murmured. "Two days without proper food, and I was fine. _Now_, not even a few hours? Don't bloody tell _me_ I'm going _soft_…"

With a reluctant stretch, the colonel got up from his table, checking his things with a quick, thorough glance, and followed the other people who were standing in the middle of the café, apparently looking up at some sort of advertisement.

'Well what's the fuss?" he growled, coming to stand next to a young man, about ten years his junior; he looked over at Tavington, who returned his glance with a simmering glare, causing the man to drop eye-contact almost immediately.

"What are you all looking at in such a stupor?" William pressed in a sharper voice.

"The menu," the young man next to him mumbled. "_Coffee_…"

"What?" William asked in confusion.

"Yeah, _coffee_… " The man repeated. "Menu's up there," he gestured above them, to an overhead wall.

Slowly, William's eyes travelled up to the coffee menu.

"Mocha, Latté…_Americano_?" he hissed. "What is the meaning of _this_? Surely, there must be a mistake…"

William stepped out of line, glowering and muttering furiously to himself.

"This is _not_ _America_… What in the hell are these people getting at? Do they wish to suffer a traitor's fate?!"

Several people in line started to stare, and Tavington stopped just in time to snap at them, "Ah yes, because _gawping_ like a bloody fish will get you so far, indeed!"

"Hey man, you're the one who's muttering to yourself," said the young man he'd been standing next to.

"I'll be doing more than that if you don't shut your mouth!" He threatened.

"Hey…_Hey_! Break it up! People just want to get their coffee," someone called from nearby.

"Oh, well I see _no_ coffee!" William scoffed. "I see… _those_," he gestured angrily at the menu options, twitching as his gaze settled back on the 'Americano'.

"Well if you want plain coffee, they have that too," someone tried in an attempt to placate him.

"_Good_, but do tell me why it is that you have an _Americano_. You are _not_ Americans. To speak of such thing will most certainly earn you a _noose_, and _good riddance_!"

"Uh…this _is_ America," the young man repeated. "Are you _okay_?"

"What do you mean, _am I okay_?" William spat. "I am perfectly sane. _You_ are bloody _mad_!"

"Yeah, ookaay; look, you need to sit dow or something-"

"I will _not_!" Tavington yelled, balling his fists.

"_HEY_! Knock it off!" a tall, rail-thin man stepped between them. "Sir, I'm sorry, you need to stop, or leave."

"Oh," William asked, smoldering. "And you would be part of the staff?"

"Yes, I'm the manager––"

"Then you would do well to cease this _treasonous_ behavior at once!" he gestured madly at the 'Americano' menu option. "I should have you in chains and flogged for bold, outright disobedience to the Crown!"

"If you do that, you'll be arrested!" the manager spoke firmly, stepping even closer to the agitated officer.

William reacted with reflexive speed, grabbing the man's arms and shoved him hard, back-first, into a nearby table.

"Filth!" he growled as the manager hit the table with a painful howl. "I am an _officer_ and you treat me no better than a peasant!" He raised his voice, grabbing the man by his shirt collar while the people around them watched in confusion and fear. Two burly looking teenagers moved in to help but were stopped with a single murderous glance, while a young woman behind the café counter hastened to the back of the building to call authorities.

"Who the fuck are you?!" the man managed to scream while Tavington continued to bear down on him.

"I should ask the same of _you_," William replied, lowering his voice and releasing the man so suddenly that he fell back against the table. "_Over-spoiled swine_." He enunciated before one of the teenagers, having regained a thread of boldness, grabbed him from behind.

"_You_!" shouted the colonel, "_Stupid boy_!" he struggled, ramming his elbow into the boy's chest with crushing force and was immediately dropped; turning quickly, William wrestled his way on top of the boy, furthering his wrath with a slap so hard to his face that it knocked the air from him.

"Oh my _god_!" someone nearby cried out in fright. "Get him off! _**Get him off**__!"_


	33. Chapter 33

Time had elapsed to well over an hour, pushing closer to two and still, Nat had heard nothing from or about her other-century visitor.

_But why should I hear from him_? She thought to herself, slumping forward on her couch while she petted Mo absently between his ears. _He didn't look like he wanted to come back… And that's damn fine with me_!

No sooner had she ended the thought with a soundless huff and grimace than Nat's landline rang, echoing from the kitchen.

"Hmm," the woman wondered, getting up from the couch to answer the phone. "This is Nat…?"

"Natalie Archer?"

Nat repressed a groan and answered, "Yes, this is she…"

The voice on the other end was a local police officer, and Nat's expression immediately grew dark.

"We have a man here at the station. A…_William Tavington_?..."

"William Tavington?" Nat echoed. "Oh…are you sure?"

"That's what his piece of paper said." The officer on the other line replied with a short tone.

"Piece of paper?"

"Look, do you know the guy or not?"

"Sort of?" Nat replied with a quick but skeptical voice. "Why?"

The officer gave an audible groan.

"I'm not here for meet-n-greet, okay? This guy totally wrecked my coffee break."

"That's it?" Nat replied without thinking.

"What did you say?" demanded the officer.

"I said 'oh shit'" she covered.

"Oh shit is putting it _mildly_, Missy!"

Nat bit down a remark and continued, "Where do you have him?"

"He's at the station, in _solitary_."

Nat groaned.

"Yes sir. Thank you, officer."

With an angry mutter, the woman hung up the phone more harshly than intended, and just managed to grasp it before it bounced out of the cradle.

Mo whined, puzzled by the change in mood.

"Hey you, we gotta go get someone," Nat looked down at him, trying to keep her temper even. "Leash?"

Mo's excited bark and manic tail-wag lifted her spirits just enough for a near-hidden grin, and Nat followed him eagerly to the front door. "Let's see what trouble he's got himself into, eh?"

* * *

"Natalie Archer?"

"Yup, the one and only," Nat replied to the officer who greeted her near the station entrance and led her into a nearby office; she was still feeling snarky from the phone call she had received earlier.

"He wouldn't give us any identification beyond his…_commission_-" the officer looked quizzically at her, "And that wouldn't come without a fight. Had to be sprayed _and_ taizered."

Nat snorted with laughter.

"Ma'am?" The officer asked with an undertone of warning.

"I'm sorry… it's just… I'm sorry…" Nat stumbled on her words.

"I don't see what is so funny about this; he _threatened_ our officers!"

"Okay…can I have him back?" Nat was weak with mirth.

"Have him back? This isn't a _trading game_! We don't know who he is! He doesn't have any identification; he could be an illegal, for all we know…"

The color momentarily left Nat's face. All fun and games had come to a screeching halt.

_No identification? Illegal?_

"But you can't deport him!" she blurted rising from the chair she had settled into.

"Hey! Calm down!" The officer rose with her. "_Calm down_!"

"You can't just take him and put him wherever!" Nat continued her tirade. "He won't show up anywhere!"

"Quiet!" The officer made a grab for her. "What do you mean?"

"Well get off me first!"

Reluctantly, the officer let go of her and she took a huffy step away from him. "God, act like I'm an axe murderer-"

"Miss Archer!"

"Fine!" Nat screeched. "He's not going to show up on any records. Well, not any _recent _records…"

"And why is that?" The officer was visibly annoyed, and rolled his eyes at her, displeased.

"He… he's just not been out in the world much?"

"Sheltered?"

"Sure," Nat finished dully.

"Well he seemed perfectly capable and literate to me!" the officer snapped. "Had it in him to call me a 'limp-legged, dung-brained, verminous wretch'."

"Yeah, he's literate," Nat covered another laugh before becoming serious once more. "Look, trust me, he _won't_ show up."

"And…_why is that_?"

"That's a really _long_ story-"

"Well we do have the time." The officer cut in.

"No, no you don't." Nat tried.

"Are you hiding him away for some reason?"

"No!" she wailed.

"Then what is it?" demanded the officer.

"His stuff was hacked. They took his records." She spat out, thinking desperately on her toes.

"Oh, so now he's gone from off-grid to hacked…?"

"No, he's off-grid _because_ he got hacked."

"Fine…." The officer crossed his arms, subtly motioning for one of his partners, a young, burly, sandy-haired man standing nearby, to enter the office. "Anders, go get the officer we had in here this morning. I need to ask him a few questions."

Nat opened her mouth to protest but the officer silenced her with a glare.

"Shut it," he hissed. "I want some _answers_ first."


	34. Chapter 34

"And this is gonna totally work; I can see it-"

"I said shut it, dammit!" the officer bellowed.

Nat scowled, but obeyed, tapping her foot on the hard linoleum floor while they waited for Anders to fetch his charge. Not five minutes later, the young man returned, looking harried and flustered.

"He said he's not going to show for the like of…_trussed up scum_…"

"What is he, a fucking puss?"

"If he's a fucking puss, then God only knows what level of wimp you are!" Nat shot back, forgetting her composure.

"Get him in here!" The chief officer growled.

"Sir-"

"If you can't get him in here-"

"I'll go back there-" Nat interrupted.

"You think he'll go all soft for you?"

"No," she argued. "He hates me, but, he hates you more."

"Oh sure-"

"What? You think I'm sleeping with him?" Nat demanded. "Do your brains get further than your dick?"

The chief officer stood quickly, ready to apprehend the woman, but his partner intervened.

"It's just words; she's not armed."

"Fine." He seethed. "But if she negotiates something that you _can't_, you'll be looking for another position."

Nat followed Officer Anders down the row of cells, past those who had committed petty crimes to a row that held inmates under higher security.

"Really?" She glowered at the officer. "Was this necessary?"

"Assault and battery? Yeah."

"You can't charge him," Nat started. "No papers."

Anders sighed and looked at her disbelievingly.

"And you're sure you have no clue where they are."

"Yeah."

"I could have your house search."

"Okay." She shrugged. "Leave Mo though." Nat finished before adding, "We there yet?"

"End of the row."

"Jesus…"

Finally, they stopped outside a heavy white door with a small double-paned viewing window.

"Step back," Anders advised.

"Yup, we're gonna die... Boom…" Nat murmured so he couldn't hear.

"Sir! You have a visitor-" Anders began, reaching for his keys.

"Piss off!" A sharp voice rang clearly from inside.

"Ooo…he's cheery-"

"Do you want to see him or not," the officer demanded, finally getting the nerve to face the troublesome woman.

"Okay okay!"

"Sir," Anders continued, ignoring Tavington's hostile response, "Miss Natalie Archer would like to speak with you."

"Oh she would?" Tavington's voice was pronounced, dripping with malice. "Very well, show her in."

"She will have a guard; you are not to move within ten feet of her."

Tavington scoffed but didn't respond; Anders took the silence as agreement and reluctantly stepped inside, motioning for Nat to follow.

"_Natalie_," Tavington sneered, meeting her gaze the moment she stepped through the door.

Nat tightened her mouth and wrinkled her nose.

"How it does have a nice roll off the tongue," he continued, enjoying her discomfort.

"Yes, but your attire doesn't even begin," she changed the subject, taking in the colonel's current state.

Tavington fell silent, glaring in response.

"Traffic cone really doesn't suite you at all."

"Yes well, your _stupid_ little friends here haven't a sense of fashion worthy of the blindest fool in the world. You especially," he turned his withering stare to Anders, whose shouldered tensed at the address. "Do I look like a bloody child?" He gestured harshly at his pant leg, which ended a foot too soon.

Anders gaped and attempted to recover his shock.

"It was what was available."

"Where are my clothes?" William demanded.

"They're in storage," the officer replied shortly.

"Storage," Tavington echoed. "Get them out!"

"You will wear the uniform," Anders argued more bravely than he felt.

Tavington stood quickly, fists clenched and looking to fight.

"Hey wait!"

"For what?" Tavington growled, giving her a cursory look before fixing his heated glare back on Anders.

"They want to talk to you. If you're nice, you get your clothes back."

Anders stuttered, attempting to argue but Nat interrupted.

"Right?"

The officer held up a finger and turned to Nat.

"You can't do that! We haven't made any negotiations like that-"

"Do you want your answers, or do you want to pick up the trash around here?" Nat turned to him with a silvery edge while Tavington watched in amusement, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"And please, do let me clean this stench of a place off." He cut in. "It smells like days-old piss."

Nat nodded and turned back to Anders.

"A shower too."

"You're already pushing it with the clothes."

"A shower too, and everything goes just fine, hm?"

Tavington snickered. The woman, so irritating, was beginning to pique his interest. Apparently being a thorn in the side wasn't her only talent.

"Everything. Goes. Fine." Anders enunciated.

"Yes sir." Nat answered, lightening her tone. "Everything. Goes. Fine."


	35. Chapter 35

Anders stood quietly, debating whether or not to trust Nat's word. She was not the type of person that he liked to handle on a daily basis for the sole principle that she irritated him to no end with her childish boldness and less- than-clean language in situations that required much more cooperation than what she had given him, readily and otherwise.

"All right, but you," he pointed menacingly at Tavington who answered him with a simper that belied his otherwise utterly disinterested expression, "stay right there."

"Of course," the man shrugged and looked away.

"And you," Anders rounded on Nat, "Are coming with me."

"Why?"

Anders bristled, his last string of patience undone.

"Do you ever just shut up and listen?!"

"Well, I can't let him go-"

"But you'll talk, so no fucking way. Get over here," He grabbed her arm.

"Hey!" Nat yelled in surprise; Tavington stood more readily than Anders expected and he dropped his grip, smirking.

"Oh… Well this should be fun…"

"Fuck you," Nat glared, "I'm coming."

"Good. Finally, something you will do." Anders pulled her out into the hall, locking the colonel's cell door behind them and grabbed an empty chair just a few feet further down the hall.

Nat deadpanned.

"You guys are nuts." She murmured.

"Tell that to Mister Ruffles in there," Anders retorted smugly.

"Mister Ruffles can haul you around like a bitch, blindfolded and bare-assed naked."

The officer had no counter and fell silent.

"Pussy," Nat murmured snidely. "How much spray did you say it took?-"

Anders sighed in exasperation and hauled the chair back, unlocking the door once more before stepping in to allow Nat through.

"At least a canister," Tavington greeted them with a patronizing grin.

"What?" Anders asked in confusion.

"It took you at least a canister of that godawful spray, and even then-"

"Yeah, whatever." The officer set the chair down in front of Tavington, just safely out of reach and looked back at Nat.

"Oh, right, you get to sit down," she glowered. "Fine by me…"

Anders chose wisely to ignore the woman and promptly began the inquiry.

"So, Mister Tavington-" he began; the colonel answered with a chilly glare. "Colonel," he grated, "How did you come to be here?"

"A flaw in time lapse, I would assume," Tavington replied casually, reclining to rest his right ankle on his left knee, arms crossed in front of his chest.

"A flaw in time lapse?" Anders repeated. "You do know that such a thing is not possible?"

"I am quite aware of that," the colonel responded complicitly, "But you would also agree that there are always… exceptions to the standard. Anomalies, irregularities, and the like, yes?"

"But-"

The Dragoon officer silenced him with a narrowed glance.

"Am I not correct? There are exceptions to every standard?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then it is possible, Anders, that I am not lying?"

The officer gaped.

"You're lying…" He stumbled.

"Am I?" Tavington's eyes widened mockingly.

"Nat, what the fuck have you brought us?" He accused.

The woman could only shrug; the situation was entirely too much enjoyment for her to voice any suitable answer.

Scoffing, Anders turned back to Tavington and continued, "Suppose that you are correct. How am I supposed to prove that? You don't have any identification-"

Tavington moved to comment but Anders cut him off.

"Any photo identification."

"Photo identification?" The Dragoon echoed.

"Yeah, photo identification." Anders replied grumpily. "Good God…"

"Look, I might be able to find something," Nat spoke up, sensing things starting to slide on a downward slope.

"You just said he had no papers-" Anders snapped exasperatedly.

"He doesn't," Nat answered tightly. "But I think I can find them."

"You expect me to-"

"Yeah. I do." Nat interrupted the officer boldly, stepping close to him with her fists clenched at her sides. "And you're going to go right along with it."

"Yeah? Why?" Anders challenged.

"Because he hasn't killed anyone, he has no papers, and detaining him or trying to deport him would be more work than you really want."

"I'd get a promotion."

"Sure, if you can live through all the form filling and legalities," the woman snorted. "So, gonna let me get the papers? Might be the best work you've done all year." She finished with a sugary grin.

Tavington remained silent and blank, inwardly enjoying the ever-mounting discomfort the officer was displaying.

"Get the papers. I want them here in two days. And they'd better be official."

"Can he come home then?"

Anders almost refused, but one look at the glowering Dragoon convinced him otherwise.

"Fine, but no papers and he's back here, even if we have to use force. And you? You'll have a room all made up for you too."

Nat shrugged. "Get his clothes then?"

The officer growled.

"Right, I follow you."


End file.
